The Pirates of the Tonkin Bay
by PhoenixFlame6
Summary: After the lethal opulence of Persia, Erik is running for his life. Obtaining passage on a ship, Erik leaves behind the world of luxury but not the world of cutthroat savagery...and when on a ship, one has no where to run to.
1. The Arundhati

**The Pirates of the Tonkin Bay**

**By: **Phoenix Flame

**Disclaimer: **I do not own it! Erik was created by Gaston Leroux and the Persia-China area was created by…er…well, I certainly didn't make it. All characters not mentioned in the canon are mine though.

**Author's Note: **Well, after a major rewrite and a hectic life, this puppy is finally meeting the sea! Just as a note, this is not a Pirates of the Caribbean rip-off. These pirates do NOT sit around drinking rum all day! Or…maybe the do, I'm not sure yet. I'd like to say thank you to Siren of Averne, a.k.a the Scorpion, for being the most wonderful beta ever! This story would not have been possible without her. Anyway, onto the story!

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**Chapter One -- The Arundhati****  
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It had been an escape to go down in the epics. In the dark of night, he had fled Persia, evading certain death for the nearly certain exchange of an innocent man's freedom, a man who over the years had become the closest thing to a friend the fleeing figure had ever known. And at the price of his own life was also a promise that had weighed his bloodlust against his keen desire for freedom. But that had been three days ago, three days since the paper-thin favor of the Shah that kept him from the assassins' list had finally run out. Erik was no longer Persia's Angel of Doom.

Since the pseudo-arrest, he had headed east, cutting through the forested terrain. It was no mad gallop to the borders however; as the Daroga had warned, the areas off the main roads were mottled with pitfalls, eager to ensnare any who let his guard down. It had been sheer luck his horse hadn't once stumbled into a pool of quicksand. And it was in this jungle that he realized quitting Persia would not be as easy as he had ever thought.

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Erik tethered his horse to a tree, not trusting the animal to be ground-tied. In the Americas, he had heard, they bred horses that were the fastest in the world for a quarter of a mile, and that would charge even into hell at the rider's behest. Perhaps he would visit there someday, though he would need a more worthwhile reason to go than merely horseflesh.

Leaving the animal, he moved forward on foot to survey the area. Despite the bounty that would soon be on his head, he actually felt little anxiety. His concern for Nadir still existed, but he trusted the Daroga to know what he was doing. Though hell if he himself understood Persian politics, even after his years there.

Though even without any anxieties at all, he still did desire deeply to move on from Persia.

Making his way through the trees, Erik remained as silent as possible, his golden gaze wary. In truth, he was looking more for natural obstacles than human ones but his innate caution was far too deeply ingrained. Still, travelers were known to seek passage through these woods in order to avoid the heat. A caravan however, he was certain, would make enough noise to alert him well ahead of its arrival.

He had continued his scouting for several minutes more, before a sound made its way to him that set him ill at ease. It was quiet, but he recognized it in an instant. Footsteps.

A rock formation nearby resembled two boulders that by chance had smashed into each other. It was not smooth rock, and he was able to scale it easily. Once he reached a fine vantage point that kept him hidden, he spied for the stranger whose footsteps still reached his ears.

The man had gone a few yards further, but Erik found him easily enough. He was Middle Eastern, though the masked man could not discern from what specific country he might be. What he did notice however, was the man's equipment. A sword at his side and a rifle over his back were accompanied by a knapsack. Noting his uniform stride, Erik deduced easily that the figure was a soldier and, more specifically, a scout.

A lone scout walking in the woods without purpose was and unlikely notion-- an army would be only a short ways behind; he was checking for pitfalls to avoid, just as Erik was. Erik chuckled inwardly. It seemed the rosy hours of Mazanderan were going to become the blood crimson hours of Mazanderan instead. Indeed, he thought, it would be satisfying to hear of Tehran being sacked and the Shah's head mounted on a pike. He would have to remember to buy a paper later on, once he was far enough away.

Once the scout had disappeared far enough through the trees, Erik returned to his horse, which had made the most out of its respite by grazing. It occurred to him that if he continued on his intended route, he would run right into the inevitable army. Certainly not a good situation. And neither would it be wise to go further and then go around them; the trees along such a detour would be too thick. Gritting his teeth, Erik ardently wished he had spent more time in the true wilderness. While he was more adept at survival than any normal citizen, a learned ranger or mountain man would have been able to find a different route easily. But even though his aversion to mankind remained as potent as ever, the thought of living in some backwater forest surrounded by deer and squirrels had never held any appeal for him. Especially now, after years of living easily and comfortably in the Persian court.

Finally, he decided to ride back a short distance to where he had seen a smaller, lesser used path. It would take him away from the closest border, but so be it. As he rode, Erik speculated further on the army that was moving. As long as he had been there, Persia had stunk like an infected animal just waiting to die, taking villages and moving forward to the capital wouldn't be too difficult for a formidable force. However, the Shah himself, if he were in that spectacular palace the masked man had crafted for him, could most likely be able to fend off any direct assault.

Erik founds his thoughts dark once more, and so he continued through the sweltering forest.

But the next day, the tree line broke and the masked man at once found himself quickly riding through pastern-high grass. His muscles were tight beneath his shirt; how good it would feel to run! The dark horse beneath him sensed the tension, and snorted loudly. Before them, nothing but farmland stretched on for miles, and, a small smile coming to the man's masked features. Leaning forward and tightening his legs, he urged the horse immediately into a gallop.

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Clenching his jaw, Erik at long last slowed the horse to a walk, its stride turning choppy before finally acquiescing. Patting the animal's sweaty neck, he rode on at a significantly slower pace, but found himself absently wondering why Nadir couldn't have gotten him a warhorse…

The black Arabian gelding was fading fast, its desert-bred endurance chipped away first by the humid forest and then the constant galloping afterwards. The beast's swarthy neck was flecked with white specks of froth and its heartbeat reverberated against Erik's legs despite the saddle. The animal was no staunch warhorse, trained to endure fatigue and press on at the rider's behest; it was a standard animal built for average riding and better than average looks. Nearly three days of hard pacing had reduced it to a panting figure, obsidian but gleaming with sweat. Nevertheless, it was trained to obey and it continued to push forward, though Erik found himself forced to rest it more and more often.

Damn it, he had been truly foolish to run the animal so extensively. He had been so sure that he would come across a village or town, but the farmlands seemed to swim into a single plain of never ending grass in front of his eyes. Rubbing his temples to fight an oncoming headache, he cursed his overestimation of Persia's populace.

Since he had left the forest, a full day had passed, and though the gap between himself and the Persian court had increased, the borders were still a distance away, an aggravating situation courtesy of the advancing army from who-knew-what Muslim faction.

His horse would not be able to continue much farther unless it received an extended rest. He had always had deep affection for animals, but his need to leave Persia was too intense to allow the beast the care it needed. Erik did not make allowances for himself either; it had been over two days since he had even consumed any water. The best he could do was occasionally lead the horse on foot even though it crippled their pace. But at least they never ceased to move.

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Later, saddled again, Erik's horse plodded on wearily under his weight. It was evening, and the sky was splotched with orange and purple that reshaped the shadows of everything beneath it. And Erik almost thought it a trick of the light when two slight towers came into view. Blinking repeatedly and straightening in the saddle, his amber eyes locked onto the buildings. As he got closer, he realized he could pick out other buildings jutting out amidst shadows. At last, he had found a town.

Urging the exhausted animal into one last trot, he approached the town quickly, relief flooding through him. Finally, he would be able to stop and plan his next course of action. As he neared the town however, an unexpected smell floated past his face. The wind was almost…_salty_? Uncertain exactly of the implications, he kept the horse at a bouncy gait, until he passed through the real one, into the town's streets. The two towers remained quiet, with no sign of guards.

The scene that greeted him was one of idle business. It seemed that in this hybrid of a village and town, work ceased just as the sun began to descend. The few people that were about on the street ignored him completely or only gave him a passing glance as they walked on at languorous paces. Their lack of attention, no doubt, was thanks to the hood of his cloak that, in the penumbras of dusk, obscured his mask from view.

A sudden squawking sound beside him caused the horse to sidestep nervously, though it was too weary to actually shy. Twisting to regard the cacophonous noise, Erik bit back a sound of surprise. The bird was perched on a stone hitching post. Its plumage was white except for its head, which was black. His knowledge of birds told him it was some kind of gull. And after seeing it, he easily realized where he was. The salty air made it all too obvious. Whatever town he was in, he was near the sea.

Perhaps fortune favored the bold, or just the wicked, for after such grueling ride, Dame Fortune seemed content to nudge him in the right direction. A sea meant docks, and docks meant ships. If he could book passage somewhere, he could get out of this treacherous country at long last. Also, he doubted the thick-headed Shah would think to guess that he would leave by sea. It was perfect.

A few years ago, such an opportunity would not have been so fortunate. Once, back in Bombay, he had been refused passage multiple times on the account of his mask; the superstitious captains moronically believed it to be a sign of bad luck: Curse the masked man! Sinking ships as well as strangling anyone who looked at him sideways! Most likely he had also murdered babies sometime in his life, considering aberrations of the face must of course distort the soul. Erik's vitriolic humor had not been quelled in Persia, he was content to see.

Now though, his coffers were overrun with gold. Superstitions be damned, he could almost certainly find at least one captain who would readily accept an excess of money as a shield against any potential bad omens.

It was by convenient chance that Erik had stopped where that gull stood, the bird continuing its insistent squawking. The building was unimpressive and modest but kept up well, and the sign on the door made its identity obvious. Erik had stumbled upon an inn.

"Thank you, _mouette_," he murmured so softly that only the horse and bird could hear.

If the bird accepted his thanks however, it was soon squandered as it was forced to take flight when Erik tied the reins to the chest-high post. While there were no water troughs available, such as those that seemed to appear in the American fiction which the English seemed to so love to tear apart but secretly love to read, the horse could at least appreciate a brief rest.

Leaving the huffing animal and entering the inn, Erik was immediately aware of the change in the people around him. Before, he had been out in the open and those that passed were too busy to pay a cloaked traveler more than a second glance. The coolness the emanated from him sweltered in the heat, somehow pasting him into the area as something slightly unusual, but little more. But now inside the inn, the coolness returned. When men were free enough to sit down and drink cheap beer, they were free enough to study a cloaked traveler more closely. The group of dark eyes stares pierced through his cloak like ice, but Erik walked on without faltering. It wasn't the first time by far that a room would quiet upon his entrance.

It amused him to hear the rumbling scratches of chairs sliding back, and sharp intakes of breath. Erik supposed he must look a sight-- a tall, slender figure swathed in black; all he needed was a scythe to make people actually run. Stifling a cold chuckle that vibrated deep in his throat, he made his way to the counter.

He easily caught sight of a heavy-set man who stood behind the chipped wooden barrier. The man's dark eyes jaded, though he still shifted his weight slightly in uneasiness, he looked straight into Erik's hood.

"May I help you, sir?"

"Yes. I will need a room and my horse a stall."

At Erik's answer, he could almost hear the ripple that went through the inn. The dark silken beauty of his voice garnered near the same reaction as his physical presence when he had first crossed the threshold, and from whispered comments, he doubted his deathly impression upon them had subsided any due to it. In this harsh land, death was a sweet peacefulness, particularly to farmers or sailors. It was ironic how some things remained so constant throughout the places he had traveled. The rich looked to death with fear, the poor with reverence, and the supposedly pious could swing either way.

Shifting his attention back to the innkeeper, he kept the remainder of his request precise.

"See that the animal is taken care of. Also, I need to the location of an agent who can book me passage."

The man's heavily lidded eyes glittered with the intelligence of his years of negotiation with travelers.

"Your room and horse can be easily secured. As for an agent, there is a place by the docks. It's easily recognized."

Erik thanked him coolly and dropped several coins onto the counter. The clunk of gold gave the onlookers a new start. He well knew it was not particularly wise to flaunt a full purse in the presence of men who could possibly be very desperate, or just greedy; either was a solid motive. Nevertheless, he had more than enough faith in his abilities of combat. Years of taking down doomed rebels in the Khanum's arena had combated the vast luxury that would have otherwise made him soft.

Before he exited the oppressing building, he turned and cast the room a last frigidly sarcastic glare. Even if they couldn't physically see it, there was not man who did not sense its meaning. Erik gestured towards the door, his slender hand sliding out of the heavy, dark material.

"My pale horse ran off several miles from here. I've had to make do with a black one instead."

Not staying to gloat on their stupefied expressions, he returned to the horse just as a gangly stable boy was untying the leather reins.

"See that he's showered, watered, and fed. In that order."

Absently, he tossed the surprised boy a coin and continued on, the salty tang of the air leading him to the docks.

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"Unfortunately sir, harvest is long over so there are very few trading ships leaving port. This town rarely gets foreign tourists either."

"So there are no ships available?"

The man cast Erik a waspish look and shuffled through a stack of papers.

"What I am saying is that any ships leaving will not be luxurious. Most Europeans that wander through here demand to find a little boat that can give them several chambers, five course dinners, and practically their own deck. To avoid getting into an argument with you later, I am telling you now."

Erik sat back in his chair, a small smile curling at the side of his mouth. Possessing one himself, he could at times admire a sharp tongue in others. Where the innkeeper had been stocky, this agent was a thin man whose sharp face only accented his shrewdness. He would have resembled any number of couriers back in Tehran except for a particular feature that had caught Erik by mild surprise.

The agent's eyes, that had only blinked a moment at the sight of the mask, were a startling blue. His hair and skin tone were the same as any other Persian, yet his eyes stood out against his tanned face, marked by a peevish expression. He was probably half-blooded, which Erik knew could mean social exile in some parts of the country.

Why did it seem his eternal luck that anyone who really didn't give a damn as to why he wore a mask almost always had an irascible temper?

"I can assure you I am not like most Europeans. All I require is something that won't sink and where I can have a single room to myself," he replied.

The hood of his cloak was pooled around his shoulders, allowing him to look the man in the eye. The man gazed back undaunted while he pulled several sheets of paper from a drawer, a small snarl on his words.

"You _drip_ European, sir, but why should I care?"

His sharp eyes flickered once and a look that could be described as minor triumph flashed across his gnarly face as he held a piece of paper in front of him.

"Ah yes, here is a ship that might interest you. It's called the _Arundhati_--"

"The morning star?" Erik cut in.

Erik caught a brief glimmer of surprise passing the agent's features before they twisted again into a look of annoyance.

"Yes. The ship's an Indian trade vessel. It goes to England, then makes a trip to Xiamen before doubling back and resting in India. It stops here on its way from Europe to restock provisions and occasionally take on a paying passenger or two. The captain's a surly Englishman but pay him well and he's hospitable enough. If you're interested, it leaves tomorrow afternoon."

_China_. Erik was interested. While he had been in Russia, he had drifted just past the border for a month, mostly studying the architecture. An extended stay in the ancient, if poor country was far more appealing than weeks of horseback riding.

"I'll take it."

The waspish man nodded. "Very well. The captain's probably by the ship right now. Go to him and book it."

Erik finally leaned forward. "Before I leave, do you know a good bookstore?"

For the first time, the man smiled.

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The next day found him making his way to the docks with a small trunk. For rest of the previous day, Erik had stopped by the recommended bookstore, purchased a trunk, and sold the horse. He would let the trader deal with it if questioned why he possessed an animal from the royal stables.

After a few hours of sleep, he was in a surprisingly good mood. The captain had been easy to negotiate with and had promised him he would not be disturbed.

He had gotten his first look at the _Arundhati_ the day before; it was an average sized, wooden vessel that looked worn but not yet flimsy. It had no figurehead to speak of on the front of the bow, but instead a thickly engraved star.

Today the ship looked exactly the same, with the gangplank already out. The captain, who called himself Captain Freca, was leaning against an askew pile of crates. The day before, he had spoken to Erik in accented Persian so painful that he'd had to demand that the captain revert to his mother-tongue. It was thankfully granted on both sides.

When Erik was several yards away, the Englishman turned to observe him and then snapped at some nearby dock-rat of a boy. The boy went past the captain and trotted up to Erik. Stopping in front of him, he gave a half-bow, speaking in argot-laced Persian.

"I'm asked to take your trunk, sir."

"I can carry it myself," Erik replied shortly.

The boy shook his tangled mane of dark brown hair. "The captain told me to."

Tiring of the thin child's incessant pleas to haul the luggage aboard ship, Erik handed him the trunk and continued on.

"Ah, we will be sailing soon," the captain rumbled in greeting.

Erik nodded coolly and walked past him to make sure the urchin boy did not drop his trunk. The gold and jewels he possessed still remained in his cloak, but it had taken him a good several hours to buy the large quantity of books. If he was going to be stuck on a ship for two weeks, he wanted decent enough material to read. Despite his reticence, the agent, who had a good eye for writing, had actually recommended several interesting titles.

Now Captain Freca was not outwardly irritating but Erik doubted he was really as jovial as he appeared.

"Greetings!"

Erik turned once more to see why the man was greeting him again, only to see the captain was not even looking at him. Instead, his attention was fixed on a middle aged couple, both obviously foreign. At their side, a Persian youth was carrying several suitcases.

_Oh Lord, please do not be…_

His suspicions were only confirmed, much to his antipathy, when Captain Freca turned back to him, a falsely apologetic smile on his face.

"I am sorry I did not mention it earlier, but another couple booked passage soon after you did."

Erik fixed the man with a frigid look, his voice pitched to carry only to him. "I was under the impression that I would be alone on this voyage. Was that not what you said?"

The captain shrugged. "At the time it was so, but the ship has multiple cabins. I cannot refuse them passage."

Erik rubbed his temples, only to hear a feminine whisper nearby.

"_Wer ist das_?"

_Pah, Germans_, he thought, irritated. The couple was looking at him curiously, and certainly not with open arms.

At last he looked back to Freca, his tone unarguable. "Very well, but I am not to be disturbed."

Though the man did not reply, his expression belied his would-be response. _I doubt they would want to…_Eager to change the subject, the captain once more resumed his jovial tone. "I never asked before, but are you English by any chance?"

Erik made his way to the gangplank, a faint snarl in his reply. Of all the times he could feel patriotic! "French, monsieur."

He heard more than saw the couple begin to follow him up to the ship. Once he was standing on deck, he sidestepped out of the way of the Germans, but right as the woman walked by, he hissed curtly, "_Wer ich bin, mein Frau, ist Erik_."

The woman paled and hurried off with her husband, who shot him a dark look but thought better of doing anything further.

And so Erik finally located his cabin where his trunk had been deposited, unscratched from what he could see, and he made himself comfortable, for soon the _Arundhati_ would set her sails and embark on what none of them knew then would be her final voyage into the South China Sea.


	2. Boarding the Dou Mu

**The Pirates of the Tonkin Bay **

**By: ** Phoenix Flame

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Phantom of the Opera but all characters not mentioned in the canon are mine, which includes the pirates.

**Author's Note: **Wow, thank you for all your kind reviews! I have waited awhile to get this story out there, for various reasons. I will try to update as often as possible. Expect the first of a lot of swashbuckling in this chapter!

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**Chapter Two -- Boarding the Dou-Mu**

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He had only been on the ship for seven days and his mind was already pacing like a tiger. Erik lounged in his room, sitting back in a wooden chair with his feet propped up on an end table that had seen better days. His strict orders to be left alone and the ample amounts of money he had distributed worked well together. Captain Freca had received more money than he normally made in a week, and it kept the man amiable.

Even with his solitude though, the confinements of the ship gnawed at Erik mercilessly. It had a crushing force to it and reminded him of the dungeon cell he would most likely be occupying had Nadir not fallen to the human trait of compassion.

Erik clicked his jaws irritably. The book in his hands had been doing a good job of keeping him occupied, but in the end, it was merely nothing more than a fine mesh of ink and paper. That peevish agent had had an acute taste for literature, most of it foreign. During his years in Persia, Erik had immersed himself in many of the Middle-Eastern works. To get a feel for any country, it was said that one had to read the classics. It proved true enough.

When he had first arrived in Persia, he had thought the country had fallen into its ruthlessness. Then he had read the Sumerian _Epic of Gilgamesh_. In cruel irony, Gilgamesh held the very flower of immortality in his hands only for it to be eaten by a serpent. The king eventually died as the demonic Namtar leered over his corpse. That cruel irony carried over into modern times, and was still found among the scurrying sycophants and assassins of the Persian court.

The book he currently read by the light of the lantern was a translation of some new English work. It was refreshing to return to the mincing dry wittiness of his own country's eternal rival.

At the moment of that thought, he felt it; a small movement, but it drew his attention nonetheless. The ship seemed to buck once, and then the movement was accompanied by a wooden groan. Erik set the book down on the small table and glanced around the small room.

Then he heard the screams. The screams came from above and were immediately mixed with battle cries and bellowing commands to stay steady. All was definitely not well. A moment later, the heavy clomping of booted footsteps coming from down the corridor met Erik's ears. Too loud a sound for the bare-footed sailors, and he had never seen the captain break into a run. Erik looked across the room once more and prepared himself.

Moments after, the heavy wooden door to his cabin flew open and was immediately darkened by the shape of an unidentifiable man. The flickering light he held glittered off a lethally readied blade. Natural instincts gripping him, Erik smashed the lantern into the man's face as hard as he could.

The assailant's scream reaved through the small room as the glass and flames made contact with his face, the former shredding and the latter searing. The man staggered forward blindly and then was pushed aside as a taller shape sprang across the threshold to help his maimed partner. But considering how dark the corridor was compared to the well-lit room, neither stranger could see well.

Erik lunged in from behind them, the Punjab lasso in his hands. It had been all too easy to maneuver around them while they floundered like half-dead bulls before a matador. The lasso struck like a viper, snatching around the injured brigand's unprotected throat.

The Punjab lasso was a cruelly efficient weapon and needed little strength to use. While his left hand was needed to properly aim the lethal implement, his right was easily strong enough to tighten it. As the catgut settled over the knave's gorge, Erik let go with his left hand and jerked with his right. Of course, the second man had already wheeled to confront him. Pivoting slightly, Erik snapped out with his free hand, bearing it down with all the force he could muster, straight into the second man's windpipe. The tissue gave under the pressure, crumpling like wet papier-mache against his gloved hand. When he pulled it away, he almost expected it to be covered in blood.

It was scant knowledge to all but the most experienced ruffians, but it only took ten pounds of square force to break a man's trachea. It was so overdone for an antagonist to break someone's neck with bare hands by twisting the head around. In truth, it took far more force to crack bones than to crush tissue. And either way, the outcome was equally deadly.

The Punjab lasso, however, was still quite adept at snapping vertebrae. He felt it then; the sensation channeled through the catgut and ran up his lean arm. The other man's neck seemed to whip back at the same time a dry cracking sound clipped through the hallway, and suddenly the Punjab lasso felt unsteady around the throat; the bones could no longer support the flesh.

In the dim light, Erik's eyes met the burned man's, which were wide with shock. It was not a pleasant sight. The glass shards had nestled themselves along his cheeks and forehead, and a longer sliver jutted out of his eye. What the glass had not destroyed, the flames had razed. No, _razed_ was the wrong word. _Melted _depicted the man's face more closely.

Releasing the noose, Erik let the man fall. He was dead before he hit the ground. Once he lay there, he looked no different. Whether he was dressed in Persian, Russian, or Indian garb, it made no difference. After awhile they all looked the same. It was just like Persia. Erik could imagine the Khanum's aquiline gaze glimmering with sadistic approval. The roar of blood in his ears was applause, the cries from the fight above were the remaining prisoners doomed to die.

The sound of a muffled gag snapped his own neck to look away from the garroted corpse.

The man whose windpipe he had struck was scrabbling frantically at his throat, his cutlass abandoned on the floor. His face was ashen from terror and lack of oxygen as his cries were muffled into gurgling yelps. It was not a pleasant sight to see someone suffocating on their own fluids, pulling in any gasping breath they could only to realize none would come. Blood frothed from the corners of his mouth as he tottered, unable to spare an arm to keep from falling. Staggering once more, his legs finally buckled, and he collided with the doorframe going down. Once the ground met his drenched cheeks, it was over quickly. A few spasms and the man lay still.

Removing the lasso from the other throat, Erik tucked it into his cloak and studied the corpses. They were Asian, obviously. They wore trousers and cotton shirts, along with some derivative of leather waistcoats, which served as light armor most likely. Beside their fallen forms were cutlasses, the wide, heavy blades ideal for combat in close quarters. From the indentions around their sleeves and chests, it was easy for Erik to discern they had been within easy reach of daggers as well.

Perhaps it was the wide blades that actually brought the recognition. After all, the carriers of such weapons were fabled. Pirates.

To his faint amusement, Erik noted that they physically did not amount to much. Though he had seen the richest and dankest parts of the world, a portion of his mind had always thought of pirates as the rugged, always-surviving fighters of legendary stories

It was obvious either the captain was very stupid or these assailants very clever. Though Erik did not pretend to have extensive knowledge of seamanship, he knew enough to know that this Indian ship was well manned and a strange vessel could have been spotted immediately as it approached. As well, from what he read, he knew corsairs seemed divided into two groups; small, river-based raiding parties and large, organized ships that rivaled navies in sheer artillery. From the sounds that still came from above, it was clear these pirates were of the latter group.

Erik took a brief moment to consider the situation. His skill in combat had always made him almost invincible against one, two, or possibly even four or five fighters if things got particularly black, but there was no way could he hold off an entire crew. Arrogance had become him over the years but it hadn't stretched _that_ far…yet.

Though he had never encountered pirates before, he had come upon enough rogues and cutthroats over the years to understand their habits. Such knaves did not possess the finesse of trained soldiers; however, their lack of qualms and frequent use underhanded tactics, coupled with die-hard survival instinct added a layer of salt to any scrape they found themselves in. It was no surprise whenever a common thief managed to take down a gendarme; the gendarme had spent too many years mocking and too many years in honesty so that he had forgotten the basest, crudest moves a desperate man could conjure.

And so it seemed that his semi-peaceful voyage was at an end, Erik thought irritably. Pirates were notorious for not taking quarter…as if he would have asked for it anyway. And the ship would certainly be sunk. He needed to get off this little boat very soon. Stepping over the barricade of carcasses, he returned to the cabin. Finding his cloak, he hastily pulled it into place over his Persian robe. His lip curled as he snapped open the trunk with a swift kick. The chest would have to stay. Removing the satchels of gems that had come from dozens of unwilling sources, he tucked them into his cloak. It would not do to get to land only to be virtually penniless all over again. After Persia, he deserved to live in some semblance of luxury, did he not?

Next, he reached for his weapons. The Punjab lasso was already in the robe, but those who ever believed it was his only weapon were fools. With practiced ease, Erik withdrew several daggers, strapping two of their scabbards around his forearms and tucking the third one into his boot. At last, his skeletal hand closed around the sheath of his sword. It was an exquisite weapon by any standard, and exotic in its own way.

It was a katana, bought at a high price from a trader during his stay in Russia. He had bought it at a time when his pockets were considerably lighter, but the purchase had been worth it. The curved blade was stronger and sturdier than any rapier and was able to slash along with stabbing. In close quarters, daggers were the weapon of choice, but if none were available, the katana could suffice almost as well. The sheath was actually made of a stiffened, almost wood-like leather, a firmer version of the same material that made up his mask. The sword's pommel was encircled in dark red, braided leather, providing an easy grip while the hilt was wide enough to protect his hand, but did not restrain its movement like a Spanish arm would.

It was his most lethal weapon, though closely seconded by his Punjab lasso. His little lasso could be defended by a raised hand to the level of the eyes, but if any fool tried it when he was holding his katana, he would find himself missing a limb.

Buckling the weapon to his belt, his golden eyes swept the room once more, but did not land on anything that would prove necessary later on. At last, he was ready. For one virtually minutes away from possible death, he was remarkably steady. The only hint of apprehension that might have been noticeable was one of his hands settling into a fold of his cloak in easy reach of a certain pocket.

Finally, he left the room, his senses tuned for sounds of other pirates drifting closer. As it was, the noises of an ever-increasing bloody fight echoed above him, scattered across the overhead deck. The corridor was empty now, save for his stalking shadow as he crept down the hallway. Quickly the stairs leading to the deck appeared in front of him, and he made his way towards them, so far unnoticed by the corsairs.

Then, without warning, the ship suddenly shuddered and bowed to the side, causing him to whipped an arm against the wall to keep from falling, his normally steadfast balance faltering. A cacophonous screeching groan tore through the vessel, causing Erik to clamp his hands over his ears and clench his jaw in an effort to stifle the harsh reverberation. _Lord, they have somehow pierced the hull! _The sound of rushing water only confirmed it. Bracing his legs and pushing away from the wall, he continued down the passage, the straining ship quavering beneath his boots.

However, when he was but a foot away from the primitive wooden staircase, he caught sight of a figure in his path. His gaze bore through the darkness at the shape, near to the floor but taking up the hall. A second later, he realized who it was.

The German lay slumped against a wall, his head dipped low so that his chin was brushing his chest. He was dressed in day clothes, and judging from the sword cane at his side, he had put up some semblance of a fight. But blood trickling from his stomach in a long stream proved that he had lost any battle he'd attempted to engage. Erik continued walking past, pausing only as a hoarse whisper met his ears:

"_Nadja…_"

Enough blood was on the floor to inform Erik that the German was as good as dead. His wife was nowhere in sight, though he could well guess the fate that had been bestowed upon her. The man was lucky he was about to die. But neither did Erik forget the arrogance the foreign couple had shown at the beginning of the voyage.

Erik nodded to the fallen German and murmured in the man's native tongue, "God has taken more mercy on you than your wife, so sleep well, German."

And as he made his way up the stairs, he was sure he heard a last, strangled yell echo behind him.

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When Erik reached the deck, the evidence of battle shone in splashes on the dark wood. Black blood splattered the wooden floor. Towards the prow of the ship, the remaining sailors were striking out against the continued onslaught of pirates.

One sailor attempted to tackle a pirate, only to be smashed in the face with what appeared to Erik to be an Ottoman styled mace. Another managed to gain an edge only to be stabbed from behind.

Had it been a battlefield, the seamen would have broken rank and fled for the hills. But on a ship, the only retreat was to dive overboard.

At his feet, Erik found the blank eyes of another butchered sailor staring up at him. He was not about to take the time to place coins over the man's dead gaze. Stepping over his bloody form, he continued. To his left was perhaps the clearest way, as well as the one that would offer the least notice to be taken of him.

Back in the Persian town, there had been a shipment of some trade product. Though Erik cared little about the ship's course, he knew that the captain had moved a load of crates from the hull to the deck to make room. He remembered the German complaining of the lack of space a day into the voyage. Erik had seldom gone on deck, but standing next to the wooden structures now, he could see what the man meant. The crates sprawled across the footspace, only stopping at the rail. And he needed the railing.

Reaching up, he vaulted onto the top of the stack. The wind immediately pounded at him, snapping his cloak past his shoulders. Up here though, he was far less obvious. And he quickly ascertained that the starboard side of the deck and crept over the wood.

When he had first boarded the ship, he had seen a pair of lifeboats. If he could reach one of them now, he could easily evade the pirates. Doubtless the barbarians would be too drunk on blood to notice a small shape flitting over the obsidian waves. A sneer unintentionally curled his lips; he would rather be stuck with a dozen Germans than be reduced to rowing to land. Nevertheless, he would rather be stuck rowing to land than to be murdered by pirates.

He was virtually invisible now. The lanterns spaced around the deck had all guttered out with the exception of one near the prow. When a force slammed into the side of one of the crates though, he dropped to a crouch, leaving him out of sight to anyone who might be standing directly beside the wooden wall.

A snarl cut through the air, though, which piqued his curiosity so much that he crept forward just enough to look down.

Captain Freca was pinned against the crate, a sword clutched in his hand. Scant inches from him, a dark figure held a cutlass. Erik watched with morbid curiosity.

It would be too easy to leap down and save the captain, he mused. No, the Englishman hadn't been _that_ hospitable.

A second later, the pirate drove the blade into the Freca's abdomen, twisting and pulling out. From his vantage point, Erik could clearly see the blood and viscera gush from the fatal wound, drenching the killer's swarthy form. It was sickening, but he watched. He watched as the pirate's mouth split into a stained grin and as he began to yank several rings off the captain's fingers, an agonized moan the former Captain Freca's only protest.

_Why not just slice off the whole hand? _Erik thought.

The spoils of the kill distracted the pirate too much to notice as Erik backed away silently and continued down the path of crates. He did not have to go far. On the far right side of the boat, he finally spotted the small crafts, still intact despite the ravages of the _Arundhati_.

Catlike, he sprang down and landed lightly. The lifeboats hung in front of him. His hands had deftly began untying the ropes that supported one of the wooden structures when a form sprang from the shadows.

Not taking a chance on whether it was a crewmember or a pirate, Erik spun on his heels and struck out with the Punjab lasso, expecting the figure to drop as everyone else did.

But the figure, almost certainly a pirate, acted unexpectedly. The man held two swords, one in each hand. With a move faster than even the Punjab lasso, the pirate brought the weapons up in a defensive cross, shielding his throat from the device. Cursing under his breath, Erik had just enough time to draw his katana before the pirate was upon him again, blades flashing in the night.

Erik parried the first attack and brought his own blade swinging back in a slash meant to decapitate the attacker, but the figure's second sword flicked upwards and easily deflected the blow.

The masked man leapt back, attempting to put distance between them and give himself an instant to formulate the strategy. The advancing pirate, however, did not seem inclined to give a moment. Instantly, the lean man flew forward, twisting and slicing his blades through the air.

Erik cursed the man's skill, and his own. He was reduced to blocking and parrying, moving deftly but unable to launch an attack. A straining ache thrummed in his wrist as he blocked a ferocious blow. _Damn it!_ Even to himself, his skill felt soft. His parried inefficiently and his blocks only kept him an inch from death.

He had not used the weapon extensively since Russia. Even in Persia, he had rarely had to resort to the blade, usually preferring his lasso. When he did use it, most of his 'opponents' had been prisoners driven into feral, terrified rages. This corsair before him was a skilled swordsman and was in control of his every movement.

Without warning, the pirate lunged forward to disembowel him, and Erik just managed to jump back again. Immediately his back slammed against a wall of wood. With a cruel twist of irony, he found himself in the same position as the former Captain Freca.

It was no gladiatorial match. The pirate in front of him had no desire to lure him on and draw out the fight. Already he was pulling an arm back to deliver a blow to send his guts flying. At least he was not wearing any rings.

Erik waited an instant, shifting his weight until the pirate lunged. Then he struck—to hell with fighting fairly. His leg lashed out, catching the corsair in the ankle. He had seized the lean man by surprise. The pirate's shoulders slumped as he tried to regain his balance, yanking his swords back towards himself. Erik pulled his own sword arm across his chest and lashed out with the end of the katana's pommel.

Though a samurai might call it blasphemy, it worked. The blunt blow split a gash into the pirate's jaw that seeped blood immediately. Erik sidestepped and wrenched away from the crates before springing at the corsair's unprotected side.

The pirate though, managed to wheel around in time to block the assault. His twin swords worked like a pair of silver snakes, licking out and tasting the salty air. This time Erik did not bother to deflect or parry; instead, he sprang back another pace and slid a dagger from his sleeve. Of course, there was not enough time to aim and throw it, but that was never his intention. Now they were evenly armed.

The pirate came forth again and Erik parried the first blow. Then he rushed forward. His speed alone took the man by surprise, but only for a second. His left hand came slashing down and Erik met it with his dagger. It was a thoughtless move. Pain shuddered through his wrist as his small dagger took the strike, until he was sure the bones in the joint were grinding together. It was a stupid move. Erik's momentum carried him until he was almost flush against the pirate's trim frame. It was a reckless move. It saved his life. His sword arm lunged upward, knocking against the pirate's own forearm. The katana's curved blade easily maneuvered horizontally as Erik prepared to slit the man's throat.

"Let's talk."

It was not a terrified plea for mercy. In fact, the total lack of fear in the decidedly Vietnamese tongue was enough to make Erik pause.

"Why should I?" he hissed.

Then he realized. It felt entirely like an ambush. The pirate's next words only confirmed it.

"Because if you don't, you will die."

Erik kept his attention on the corsair but glanced around him. Though the integrity of pirates was something to be doubted, this one was truthful. Erik found himself surrounded by the rangiest group of seamen he had ever seen. During his frenzied battle, the rest of the brigands must have killed the remaining sailors and torn themselves away from their loot.

It did not take a genius to guess the odds. Unable to do anything else, he slowly lowered the katana.

The pirate in front of him nodded and looked around, addressing his crewmen in Vietnamese so slurred with argot that Erik could not follow what he was saying. Whatever he said, however, was greeted by a raucous shout from one pirate in the circle. The masked man could just make out the word "murder," along with snarls of agreement from one or two others. To hear a few sounds of what appeared to be protest was a consolation at least.

While the two pirates back in his cabin had not ruffled him, he had to admit the entire crew bearing down on him with accusations was an intimidating sight. Not that he would admit it.

At last, the man he had just fought turned back to him, his expression musing as he held a hand to his bleeding cheek.

"The men you killed were comrades, you know. Many of these would happily slit your throat."

"If any will to, I invite them to try; if you are only attempting to stall your inevitable doom, I suggest you brandish your swords again," Erik replied coldly.

The pirate's narrow eyes grew narrower and he looked ready to skewer him right then and there, but he kept his temper reined for whatever reason. But before he could reply, a deeper voice called from farther down the deck:

"It is often better to reuse an enemy's sword than to melt it down."

Both Erik and the offended pirate turned to see a man making his way through the circle as if he were a kennel-master among his hounds. No matter how vehement some of the pirates might have been, all went silent at the sight of the figure.

The man was old, perhaps in his late fifties, though the sun had left far more wrinkles than time. He walked with a limp, a cane in hand. His form was heavier than the pirate who Erik had battled, and gray locks held the last few remnants of black. Despite his age however, his back was straight. And most striking of all was the stranger's left eye. It was a pure, milky white that gazed at something that Erik would never see. The man's right eye, however, was sharp and surveyed the scene piercingly.

"Sir," the pirate began with a trace of uneasiness. "This one killed two of our men."

"If he did defeat two fully-armed pirates in combat, don't you think the Captain might have use for him?" the man replied easily.

Erik knew then that his fate was decided. Though the younger corsair obviously disproved, he did not defy that quasi-request. He turned to Erik, his voice one of icy politeness. "The Captain _will_ be interested to meet you on the _Dou-Mu_. Should you accept now, we will not kill you."

If Erik found the captain, he might be able to buy his freedom. He could probably kill the pirate in front of him and perhaps a few others, but they outnumbered him far too much for him to have any hope of winning his life that way. He supposed he could jump overboard, but tonight he was decidedly not in a suicidal mood. Well, there was no other option.

"Very well."

The pirate nodded to the mangy crew. A portion of the men began cloistering around him, their expressions ranging from callous to amused.

"This honor guard seems a bit excessive, doesn't it?" Erik said, at last slowly sheathing his sword.

The corsair's expression remained cool, but Erik thought he saw a flash of puzzlement. It was only then he realized he had reverted to Persian, not Vietnamese. But assumed the man must have been able to get the gist of what he said.

With the crew of pirates at his back, he moved to the port side through the corpses of sailors that littered the deck, many still holding their weapons. Just beyond the railing, the pirate vessel rested on the water like a dozing dragon or a leering demon. In the dark, it was a hulking black mass, bobbing silently upon the obsidian waves.

Someone had been considerate enough to lay a plank between the two ships, and the wind buffeted him once more with salty air as he walked across, almost as if wanting to push him back onto the doomed morning star that would never again see the dawn.

Or perhaps it was just the breath of the resting dragon. For as he neared the railing of the Dou-Mu, Erik could almost see the glitter of hungry fangs.


	3. Altercations in the Bedchamber

**The Pirates of the Tonkin Bay**

**By: **Phoenix Flame

**Author's Note: **As always, many thanks to Siren of Averne. This chapter would have not been nearly so sexily edgy had she not given her forever valuable input.

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**Chapter Three – Altercations in the Bedchamber**

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The _Dou-Mu_ looked no less an abeyant dragon once Erik stood upon her deck. The ship rose taller than her prey and was built of a considerably more Oriental design. Sails arched like spiny fins piercing the dark sky, while the water audibly lapping against her sides fawned like courtiers. Alongside the _Arundhati_, she looked all the more nefariously regal. Especially as the doomed merchant ship's front deck dipped more and more under the sea, like a wounded horse sinking into the mud.

But Erik was less concerned about this boat than about who owned it. The pirates forming the entourage that had brought him over from the sinking ship muttered amongst themselves. He made no effort to follow their murmurings. His Vietnamese was entirely book-learned and most of this argot, he did not know.

The lean pirate he had crossed swords with suddenly broke into a faster walk, moving to a flight of steps that led up to a higher deck. The pirates around him, however, had stopped, wordlessly signaling Erik's own halt. The one-eyed, white-haired one who had spoken for him wandered back to the railing and looked over at the other ship. Erik's eyes followed the action, looking with morbid curiosity as the vessel hunkered further down into the water.

Assorted hollers and commands reached their ears from the other ship as more pirates came from the bloodstained hold carrying chests of whatever loot they had found. Erik recalled the many stacked of crates of trade goods that had lined the walls below deck. The pirates to haul their new acquisitions aboard the _Dou-Mu _across another, wider plank that had been put between the two ships. It seemed Xiamen would just have to do without its saffron for a while.

Erik's attention snapped back to the ship where he stood at the approach of two figures. Turning fully around, he finally saw who he knew must be the captain of the pirate ship. Even the one-eyed man could not match this corsair for domineering presence.

The Chinese captain was barrel-chested and hardy, standing shorter than the Frenchman but more than likely outweighing him. To Erik's sharp gaze, there was little fat on him; his frame was muscular, but not brutish. A closely trimmed black beard went just under his strong jaw line, which was set in calculation. He said nothing.

The leaner pirate, who had returned with him, walked ahead of the captain to stand in front of Erik. His voice was a sharp whisper.

"This is Captain Sying. Treat him as you would a king—No," he corrected himself, "As you would an executioner standing next to the chopping block."

Erik nodded once in icy reply and looked past him to the captain. As difficult as feigning respect would be, he knew he would have to choose his words carefully. This was not Persia, where he could escape on horseback. This ship was essentially a kennel, and one did not pick an immediate fight with the largest hound.

"Captain." Summoning a cool courtesy he had so often spurned back in the arid courts, Erik acknowledged the captain with another short nod. "Greetings. I am Erik."

The thick-bodied man, who wore similar garb as his crewmen, though it had more ornamentation, wasted no time, galloping over any other formalities, "I am Captain Sying." Nodding to the lean pirate still beside him, he continued, "My first mate tells me you killed two of my men."

A ripple of commotion went up behind him and Erik was almost certain he heard the clink of coins exchanging hands. That or swords rattling in their sheaths.

A twisted smile curled at the harsh mouth of the captain. "As you can see, my decision now is not to be made lightly. I do not know whether to praise you or curse you; these were my men, but they also were some of the roughest fighters in the seas of Asia." His searching eyes were cold as they scrutinized Erik closely in the dark.

Erik had to bite his tongue to keep from saying that it was no wonder Genghis Khan had smashed their country if those were the best fighters Asia had to offer.

Instead, he offered mirthlessly, "You should curse me for killing your men but praise me for my skill at defeating them."

A barking laugh rumbled from the Captain's mouth, accompanied by muffled snickers and a few growls from the surrounding pirates. The pirate king's coldness chipped to reveal a rough humor, "Since you seem adept at answering questions about death, I shall ask, what do _you_ propose I do with you?"

_Kill that irritating first mate. Replace my lost books. Apologize profusely and beg my forgiveness. _

"Allow me to pay my way to the port in Xiamen," he replied carefully.

Sying appeared on the verge of an answer when a feminine scream jerked his attention away to the prow of the ship. Erik's gaze followed and his stomach lurched at what he saw.

Three pirates surrounded the German woman, and one of them who stood behind her had an arm wrapped around her as he groped at her breasts. She was in little more than a dressing gown, the gossamer material flapping wildly in the wind. Her hair, which Erik thought had previously looked large enough to house a seagull, fell almost to her waist in messy blond tangles. Blue eyes flashed in a torrent of fright and outrage as she twisted against the brigand's vulgar grip.

The lecherous pirate's face nuzzled her cheek and he whispered something. Whatever he said caused the woman's face to tighten, and she snapped out with a word that the buffeting winds actually served to carry to the captain and Frenchman, "_Schweinhund!_"

Erik looked back to the captain, whose face had darkened ferociously. The burly man at once strode forward to the group with all the imposition an iron-shod warhorse.

"No rapes!" he snarled, though his pitch was closer to a bellow. "Screw half a dozen whores bloody once we hit land—slit her pale throat even—but while you are on my ship, keep your drawstrings tied!"

As he stalked towards the man like death incarnate, his mere voice was enough to make the pirate jerk his wandering hands away as if he were about to lose them. Perhaps he was.

Erik wasn't sure why he did it, but the next moment saw him briskly following the captain. And once he was several paces from the frightened German, he paused and called out to her. "Go along with whatever I tell you, woman," he said in her native tongue.

The woman's terrified gaze focused on him and widened further. "What are you talking about?" she gasped.

Turning to face the captain, he gestured to the German. "Captain, this woman is a baroness. If you were to ransom her back to her family, you would earn much more from her alive than dead."

Captain Sying was not an idiot. Raising a thick eyebrow, he asked inquiringly, "How do you know this?"

"She seemed ready to flaunt it at every conceivable moment back on the ship," Erik answered and glanced back at the woman in irritated memory.

"What in God's name are you telling them!" squawked the German.

Erik looked back at the Captain. "She says she comes from an old family who would ransom anything to get her back." He directed what he next said to the woman. "You are now a baroness, try to act aristocratic, calling the men pig-dogs does not qualify."

Though she looked no less frightened, she at least began to understand what was happening. Erik could not decide if the Captain believed it or not. Whatever the man thought however, he kept to himself and gestured dismissively to the others.

"Keep your hands off of her; she isn't that good-looking anyway. We shall see what sort of noble she is later."

The pirate who had fondled her gave her a push away. She stumbled to regain her balance and looked around bewildered. The woman might not have understood the conversation, but she could at least comprehend she was not yet going to lose any virtue she might have to lusty pirates.

Erik suddenly remembered the final word of the dying German in the other ship's corridor. _Nadja_. Most likely, that was her name.

Captain Sying was once more regarding him silently. The pirate appeared never to start a conversation unless he had to bellow at someone. Uncomfortable with the multiple stares from the rest of the crew, Erik turned back to the Captain.

"As for my terms, _Captain_?"

Once more, the man barked a laugh that grated Erik's nerves uncontrollably. But even more galling was the pirate's almost bored expression. Did he have to grope the nearest woman or stab another pirate to keep this man interested?

Captain Sying nodded his head to the sinking _Arundhati_. "Once my men are done gutting that bitch-ship like an English pig, they will all drink themselves unconscious. It is their night and not a time to make such decisions." He grinned, and Erik noticed that one of his front teeth was capped in gold. "We'll decide tomorrow. Until then, Peterke can show you to your room."

_A room?_ He had not expected anything so civilized on their part. Looking up, he suddenly realized the lean pirate, now known as Peterke, was leering savagely. And before Erik could grab his sword, two hands seized his shoulders in an iron grip.

The two pirates who had so discretely gotten behind him were more than hefty men. One stood even taller than he and had a broad stomach, though his limbs were infused with muscle. The second was shorter but had a tighter, rockier frame, like a warrior out of legends. A long black mustachio entwined with miniscule bells adorned his face and his long braid had the same gold ornaments that glittered in the faint lightTogether, both men managed to hold Erik just off his feet, making his kicks ineffectual, and his shoulders were gripped in such a vice that he was sure they would break if he made a grab for the katana.

_Barbarians_.

He seethed and wrenched against themas the hulking pirates half carried, half dragged him down a flight of stairs amidst the faint tinkling sound of small bells and cacophonous chorus of laughter, one voice of which was surely barking. Damn them if he would make it easy!

At last, the dank smell gave away where they took him. The entire place smelled of brackish water and mildew. They had hauled him to the deepest part of the ship's hull. Crates formed a wooden labyrinth through the large area, though a path remained, cut straight through.

They dragged him to the far wall where he could just make out—_God, not this!_ A pair of long-chained shackles hung from an iron loop in the wall, lying across the floor like silver cobras.

The sight of the venomous restraints only made him thrash harder, which earned him all the more crushing force against his shoulder blades. Despite his struggling, his wrists were smashed into the cuffs and secured. In order to bind him though, the pirates let him stand firmly on the ground. Erik snapped one leg out in a fierce kick aimed at the first pirate's large gut. The hulking man merely grunted and Erik received a crushing punch to his own stomach from the mustached one.

He gasped involuntarily as the breath left his lungs, forcing his knees to weaken beneath him. Damn bastard could throw a fierce punch. It was fortunate he had not had dinner. Erik looked up, trying to see if they planned any more attacks.

The second pirate merely growled something he couldn't catch and turned to walk to a table that Erik had not seen before. The first pirate thought better of attempting to take the katana while Erik continued to struggle and instead joined his comrade. The pair sat and fell into a conversation that Erik had no desire to follow.

Erik waited then and vaguely wondered if the captain had planned this torture. He would have much rather fought pirates back onboard the _Arundhati_ than have to listen to another minute of the details of some buxom wench that one of the pirates had bedded. For once, he wished he had not learned this language so thoroughly. The German woman knew not a word of it and _she_ had managed fine enough so far. Nevertheless, the feeling that he had merely postponed the woman's gory destiny was actually a bit disquieting.

His attention was then drawn back to the two pirates. The one who had struck him had risen to his feet, his braid tinkling with the movement. "This twiggy bastard isn't going anywhere. I'm getting something to drink."

While Erik had not noted any actual pecking order, the broader man put up no argument. "Jus' bring me back a tankard," he mumbled.

The shorter one nodded in reply and swaggered up to the deck.

At last, the larger pirate was left alone. Slowly, carefully, Erik pulled a wire from a pocket. He did not bother retrieving one of his daggers; undoubtedly, the hardened seamen would notice the obvious movement for what it was. The wire however, was in easy reach. Moving silently, he slid the slender piece of metal into both locks on the manacles. They were well oiled enough not to squeak. They must have endured frequent use.

He only undid the locks, however; he did not remove the cuffs themselves. He knew that from where the pirate sat, they would appear intact. Now he only needed to get the man over to where he was without him calling for his comrade.

"Your customs of hospitality are lacking," Erik ventured.

The heavy pirate turned to him, amusement and disdain battling for domination upon his features. For a moment, Erik thought he would not reply, until finally guttural speech rumbled forth, "Who gives a damn about hospidalidy?" he growled. "The Cap'ain's being nice by not gudding you like a dumb cow."

If he had not already seen so much, Erik might have been daunted. As was, he was almost amused by the pirate's inability to pronounce his T's. He laughed coldly. The effort caused his sore stomach to ache, but he had to keep baiting him. "It doesn't matter; I won't be here long anyway."

The pirate rolled his eyes. "If you even think yer gedding off this ship in one piece, yer an idiot.The Cap'ain won't trust a man who wears a mask." He thundered out his own laugh. "You chained and all, I could rip it off your face and you couldn't do a thing. You think kicks s'op Niu?"

"I invite you to even attempt it, heathen." Erik pulled one hand free from the manacles.

Whether it was the dare or the realization that he was not as captive as the hulking man thought, the pirate's face twisted in anger and he lurched up from his chair and over, unarmed but doubtlessly safe in the knowledge he was built as if he could wrestle his namesake and win.

_Perfect, let him be cockier than that groping pirate on deck_.

The pirate continued to advance, like a bear coming down upon a mountain lion. A bear would have probably been smarter. As the swaggering mass of muscle drew up before him, arms raised to wrench his bones into ways they were never meant to be moved, Erik pulled his other hand free and took up one of the lengths of chain in his grasp. The pirate froze, suddenly realizing that his hostage was entirely free from restraints.

The fool paused too late. Erik flung the chain around the man's bull neck and yanked it tight. The pirate stood taller than he did, but Erik used it to his advantage. He hauled down, using his weight to apply more force to the man's neck.

He had used the chain in place of the Punjab lasso for several reasons. Foremost, he had no desire to kill the pirate, only for him to lose consciousness. He doubted Captain Sying would let yet another of his crew's dismemberment pass so easily. His lethal little catgut's power lied in its ability to cleanly snap necks. If he tried slowly to strangle the large man, the device would have been slim enough to give his opponent enough time to attack.

As it was, despite the chain's thickness, the pirate fought succumbing to the lack of air. His eyes became glassy and bloodshot, but he managed to grab hold of the chain with his ham-hands. Erik understood the man's intention, and drove a heel into the brute's knee.

The pirate had begun to use his own mass to swing the chain to the side, in effort to smash his attacker into the wall, but because of the kick, his balance was thrown. Erik staggered to the side, but thankfully managed not to bash his brains against any walls.

With the vain strategy failing so quickly, the giant man finally crashed to his knees, making enough noise to summon the entire ship. Erik sincerely hoped the crude pirates were too inebriated to hear properly.

Crouching beside the fallen man, Erik removed the chain and disdainfully dropped it to the ground. He hated chains.

He stood again and surveyed the hull. These crates would do him no good at this time, nor would the table and chairs. In short, it was useless for him to remain in the dank area, and so Erik headed to the stairs. Hopefully, the other, mustached pirate wouldn't be returning with spirits anytime soon.

The first flight of stairs Erik took led to a corridor lined with doors. They continued on up to another level, but Erik stepped away. It was warmer, dryer, and better lit in this passage than the hull. Seeing just this hall, Erik could almost forget the barbaric pirates that occupied it. It appeared the most inhabitable quarters at least.

His boots ticked dully on the wood as he walked along the passageway. Aside from a black cat that lurked at one end, the area was empty. The few doors he opened showed signs of obvious use though the rooms were unoccupied at the moment. Eventually, he neared the opposite side of the corridor with only a few doors left, and he was beginning to grow bored.

He opened another one just as idly, but to his surprise, it showed no signs of occupation. The room was small but clean. A small bed lined one wall and a chest hunkered down in front of it. A gas lantern sat on an end table, unlit and cold.

To hell if they found him. He was confident enough that he would wake before a sword could be poised at his throat. It wasn't as if he could incur much more of their wrath after half-strangling the brutish man below. As it was, fatigue had steadily crept into his muscles, the fast result of sword fighting after three years of scant practice.

Sleep came quickly to him after he settled onto the small bed.

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And sleep just as abruptly left him, or at least felt like it. Erik's senses snapped to awareness at the sound of a door opening. He twisted onto his side, hand halfway to a dagger in his sleeve when the door flipped wide. He did not expect much affection from the pirates.

However, instead of an angry piratical crew, the single figure in the doorway was…a woman. It obviously was not the German—this one was surely native.

She had a short, slender build. Her face was sharper than most of the Asians he'd seen. Erik guessed she was a cabin girl. After all, he had not heard the Captain denigrate consensual fornication.

The woman's sharp face flashed in brief surprise when she saw him there, her thin eyebrows flaring like harpy wings. An instant later, her surprise hardened into prickly anger.

"You're supposed to be locked up in the hull." She had a sharp tongue for some sailors' doxy.

"Your captain is civil to his passengers," Erik replied, easing onto his back and only partially paying attention to what she said.

The woman's gaze narrowed. "Liar, the entire ship saw you dragged like a stubborn mule down to the hull."

"No, that was a _different_ masked man."

"Leave this room," she growled.

"It's occupied," he snapped back. "Unless you want to join me, find a different room."

Her face clouded in fury. "Get out, damn you!"

Erik turned to his side again and faced her more squarely. He was beginning to grow irritated with this wench. "Why should I?"

"It's _mine_, you puff-fish."

He chuckled. "I guess you don't spend much time in your own quarters, do you?" he asked sardonically.

"Sying will castrate you within the hour!" She wheeled about and stormed from the room, slamming the door behind her.

Erik remained looking at the door. The sound was barely audible, but he had done the same too many times not to hear it.

The little bitch had locked him in.

When would the human race realize they had an obsession with doors and locks? And that they were so easy to manipulate?

He slid off the bed, his sword bumping against his hip uncomfortably. It did not make a good bed-warmer but its steely blade was always a comfort. Walking up to the door, he once more withdrew the slender, tough wire. The lock looked heavy but cumbersome. It proved to be better at intimidating than withholding.

"I doubt he would sink so low as that," Erik leaned against the doorframe, speaking to the woman's back several paces away.

She spun around like a startled deer. Her dark eyes blinked for a moment, before blazing once more with rage. What an ill-tempered little woman. She then yanked out a sword.

She must have had the sheath hidden by the folds of her silk skirts. The weapon was slimmer and lighter than a cutlass, but Erik did not have enough time nor desire to study it more closely.

"_I'll do it myself then_," she snarled.

The wild wench lunged, snapping the sword out in a wide arc.

Erik ducked back into the room, the lithe form following him._ Lord, what kind of women did they make in the Orient?_ He unsheathed his own sword.

She slashed down with her weapon, a blow he was able to block easily enough. An instant later though, she spun away. The woman was fast—fast and agile. But so was he. He met her next thrust, rolling back and delivering a counterattack that forced her to leap to the side.

She obliged, but like a little viper, she suddenly ducked and wheeled around again, returning with an uppercut that came an inch from slicing off his hand. Luckily, he moved quickly enough to angle the pommel of the katana downward so that the woman's sword crashed against the hilt.

It aggravated him to fight in such close quarters. _She_ aggravated him. Yet he would not kill her, tempting as it was. He was forced to defend himself because she attacked him; his promise to the Daroga held no sway in this little cabin. But it was his own silent moral; though she might be a smutty cabin girl, however well she fought, she did not deserve to die at his hand—that honor might go to the next sailor she happened to annoy with her sharp tongue.

But neither would he stand there and let this woman fulfill _her_ promise.

Erik sprang forward, pinning her to the wall with his hands on each of her arms, his momentum bringing him flush up against her.

He could not rein in his own tongue then. "Feisty wench, aren't you?"

The woman looked ready to spit venom. She squirmed like an eel beneath him, the cords in her neck flexing like steel wires.

"Let go of me, _cho de_!"

Erik pressed the heel of his hand hard into her wrist that earned a cry of outrage from the woman, followed by more curses directed at his mother and various parts of anatomy. At last though, the clatter of her fallen sword reached his ears.

Suddenly the cabin door crashed open once more, hitting with such a force that the entire wall trembled. There stood Captain Sying, his mouth twisted into a scowl beneath his short beard. His eyes met Erik's, his expression, first startled, quickly grew into quiet rancor. When he spoke, his voice came out in a boorish growl.

"You—_what are you doing with my wife_?"


	4. Bartering with Bears and Foxes

**The Pirates of the Tonkin Bay**

**By: **Phoenix Flame

**Author's Note: **Thank you for your kind reviews. Expect more profanity (in multiple languages), unromaticized pirates, and badass swordery. I warn thee again, these pirates are not nice Captain Blood critters. They aren't even nice Long John Silver critters. Last time we left our Erik, he was in quite a pickle. Now…he shall be in a zucchini. Oh yes, doing the unthinkable, I actually wrote most of this while watching _Pirates of the Caribbean_ XD. Dundadun dadundadun dundundadun! In other POTC news, I got a glimpse of a trailer for the upcoming sequel, Dead Man's Chest. It looks good! Bill Nighy shall rock as Davy Jones. Geoffrey Rush is still credited as Barbossa, so who knows? Johnny Depp is looking mighty fine too.

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**Chapter Four – Bartering with Bears and Foxes**

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At that moment, Erik could have thought of no less than sixteen different curses in six different languages. Nevertheless, none of them would do him any good now, and so they died halfway up to his tongue. For all he knew he might be joining those dead words.

Erik's attention jerked from the squirming woman beneath him to the door, and the imposing figure in front of it. The pirate captain's face had darkened to a squall, shadowing the even darker eyes that glowered from beneath thick eyebrows.

What had he done to get into _this_ mess? Without warning a knee rammed into his stomach.

For a brief ironic instant, Erik wondered if perhaps he should be grateful that the wench did not aim lower. Unfortunately, her knee connecting with his abdomen was not much better. His stomach was already tender to the touch, courtesy of the rocky-framed pirate's fist. Erik staggered several steps backward and the wild-woman twisted free. Her aquiline features were taut with fury as she glared at him. _His wife… _Her status somewhat accounted for her commanding tongue.

The woman sent the Captain a scathing look and her voice cracked like a whip. "So, _husband_, do you give prisoners their own bloody rooms now?"

"I sent him to the hull, you blind woman," Sying growled, and turned his gaze to Erik, his expression rolling like an angry storm. "You! Lay a hand on my wife again and I'll cut it off."

"In my defense, your honey-sweet wife drew her sword on me first," Erik replied like poisoned silk.

The woman gave a savage nod, her mouth set in a mocking snarl. "That I did. I have to defend what is mine after all, since I seem to be the only one who will."

With that she seized the sword lying on the ground and rammed it into its sheath. Moving around Sying, she stormed from the room.

"_Mai! Get back here!_" the Captain roared after her, twisting partway to face the door. He fixed Erik once more with a burning stare. "_Stay here_. If you leave the room tonight, you'll be put keelhaul." His timbre held no dire threat. "If I find you killed Niu, you'll die on the morrow."

_That shall be crisp motivation to stay here._ Erik watched as Captain Sying wheeled and exited the room. The burly man slammed the door behind him. Erik did not here it lock.

Above on deck, he heard the cheering and stomping of what he assumed was piratical revelry. Perhaps if they became dead-drunk he might hope to steal a small boat. That plan had worked so well last time.

Sighing, he sat back on the bed and gingerly touched his battered stomach. He found it sore. Carefully he pulled up the material of his shirt and studied the flesh beneath. The skin was already bruised a brooding, purple color. Erik did not care to look at it anymore and recovered it.

Erik's previous rest could not have been more than an hour or so. Weariness still infused his bones and tendons, and probably his ligaments for good measure. The escape from Persia and battle with the pirates had taken their toll. He was almost certain he had had more stamina back along the Russian steppes.

The bed, though rag-stuffed and lumpy, was warm and inviting. He reclined entirely, and soon sleep returned from her hiding place. Of course, he kept his sword at his side.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Though there were no windows to tell him so, it felt like morning. Erik awoke to the feeling of someone standing nearby. Hastily he sat up to face the door.

"Get up. Enjoy the daylight while you can still see it."

This time there were no pirate wenches standing in the doorway. Instead, the gravelly voice belonged to a well-muscled male Asian ruffian with a prominent scar across his cheek The pirate regarded him with a lazy smirk. There was less biting hostility in his expression than the pirates Erik had seen last night. Perhaps they became more pleasant once they were hung-over.

The pirate spoke once more, "Well, stand. Sying wants you on deck to dicker with."

Erik rose to his feet and straightened his sword belt. His cloak served as enough of a blanket, and had twisted during the night to drape over a single shoulder. He straightened that as well.

Other than the pirate and him, the cabin was still. Erik's fatigue had receded, though his limbs were tight and acidic from use. His face felt smothered, the result of sleeping with his mask on. The stiffened leather was softer than what he had been forced to wear as a child but it was uncomfortable to lie in all night nevertheless. The soreness would go away once he moved about, he knew.

Today, he would know if the crew of drunken pirates would kill him. The thought of having himself 'put keelhaul' did not appeal to him, whatever it was. He followed the pirate out of the little cabin and into the corridor. The ruffian kept a pace behind him, as if ready to charge if he decided to deviate from the route.

He needed a plan. Erik's mind mulled over the problem as he walked. What would be the most persuasive to greedy egotistical pirates? It was not a complicated predicament; the answer came to him a moment later. Hopefully they were as riddled with avarice as they appeared. Why else would they turn to a life of piracy?

"What exactly is it to be 'put keelhaul'?" His curiosity came through regardless of the situation. He glanced back over his shoulder at the pirate.

The corsair's lips pulled back in a predatory grin. Erik noticed that the jagged scar across the pirate's cheek caused his upper lip to twist and reveal several teeth at the corner of his mouth.

"Keelhaul? You're dragged under the ship and pulled up the other side. If your lungs aren't choking seawater, your back's flayed raw from the barnacles."

_Barbaric pirates_, Erik thought. It was a classic case of the cuckoo calling the loon crazy. Though it had always been much more clinical, the cruel underground chambers of Persia held dark tools indeed.

Erik kept up his steady pace but could not keep himself from asking coolly, "Do you have a clever pirate name too?"

The pirate gave an indolent shrug. "Chosoi."

How creative. Erik guessed the name came from the pirate's injury-caused wolfish grin. Erik climbed the steep stairs to the deck and conversation ceased.

The sun and salty air rushed to meet him as he gained the deck, with Chosoi on his heels. Erik blinked furiously at the explosion of light. He had never had much fondness for bright light. Perhaps it was the light that stunned his senses, rendering him unaware of who suddenly fired the gun. The crack of a pistol shot sounded to his left, and a dark trail rushed past his face.

Erik leapt back on instinct, colliding into Chosoi. From the same side as the gunshot, he heard a chorus of cackling laughter. The laughing was soon joined by a sundry array of pirates that milled about on deck. With his vision clearing, he twisted to see the ones who so obviously gained enjoyment from firing bullets at unsuspecting captive travelers. Not surprisingly, it was the captain's wife, sitting casually on the railing.

_No, not just her_. Beside her sat a woman as thin as a staff, one of which she ironically held in her hand. If Mai was sharp-faced, the woman beside her was cut from glass. The wench's lank dark hair only accentuated her boniness. On the other side of the captain's wife leaned a heavy-browed man holding a pistol in one hand. A second pistol rested at his side in a black leather holster. _No_, Erik suddenly realized upon a second look. The one who fired the gun was in fact one of the most brutish women he had ever seen.

The gunslinging pirate wench obviously outweighed both Mai and the thinner woman. Perhaps put together. What Erik assumed was a leer from the boorish wench was a crass hybrid between a scowl and smile. Mai herself brandished a vulpine grin, her dark eyes flashing viciously. _What a vile little woman. What a vile little flock of women_, Erik thought.

Raucous chuckling came from directly behind him and a pair of hands shoved against his shoulders.

"Let's go, you can gawk at the beauties of the ship later. If you still have eyes to look through."

Erik did not like being pushed. Nevertheless, he quelled the urge to break the man's jaw. If he would live, he must be civil. He must be diplomatic. He must be self-preservationate. Erik ignored the affront and continued walking. Finally, he spotted Captain Sying standing at the prow of the ship, arms across his chest. The pirate captain wore pale-colored pant that flared at the knee and tucked into high boots. A sword hung at his side. His first mate Peterke stood beside him. Near both of them, the same black cat that Erik had seen the night before lied lazily sunning itself.

"There's the Captain and Pink, best watch that swordhand of yours," whispered Chosoi.

"I see no one can pull a cloak over your eyes, pirate," he whispered back sardonically.

_Pink?_ Erik wondered at the first mate's true alias.

He felt Chosoi bristle behind him. The pirate shoved him forward, more roughly than before. When Erik stopped several paces from the captain, Sying finally uncrossed his arms and spoke, his eyes dark.

"Well, I decided that we have no use for you. Your wealth could never measure what we have in the hull right now. Ergo, I have decided to kill you. My apologies."

Erik froze. For a moment, he scarcely breathed. Peterke or Pink or whoever he was remained silent, though his gaze glimmered triumphantly.

Sying's mouth suddenly parted into a mocking grin, followed by a bellowing laugh.

"I only jest. They do have humor in Europe, do they not?" Before Erik could reply, the pirate continued. "What could you possibly offer us to let you stay alive until we reach China? Or the Tonkin Bay for that mater."

Erik answered slowly, his voice nearly a whisper. "I have jewels. Sizable, glittering ones."

The heavyset man snorted. "We have a damn 'nough gems. Enough gold too."

Erik breathed deeply, and prepared for the gambit that would either hang him or save him. He dipped into his cloak and produced a diamond the size of an egg. The Captain did little more than blink at it. Erik swept a hand grandly over the gem and began his play.

"This diamond comes from the turban of the Shah himself, plucked right from the folds and replaced with a ball of iron to disguise the missing weight." That was a lie, in truth. He had really filched the jewel from a lesser noble's coffer, but no matter. Next, he took out several large sapphires and an emerald. "These come from the Peacock Throne, worked from the metal prongs. I have more of them—diamonds, rubies…"

He glanced up. Sying was looking at him more earnestly and more of the crew had formed a ragged circle around them to see the gemstones. Finally Erik prepared the last of his stratagem. Dipping farther into his cloak, he pulled out a medium-sized stone the color of absinthe.

"An emerald?" Sying asked dubiously.

Erik shook his head. "No, _alexandrite_. In the sun, it is strikingly verdant. In the shade however," he covered the gem with his other hand to shadow it, "It turns a deep shade of red."

Now he had the attention of almost everyone on deck. Sying leaned forward further, inspecting the jewel that had indeed changed color. After convincing himself that it was no charlatan's trick, he nodded slowly.

"How did you come to steal these trinkets?"

"I have traveled many places, Captain," he replied. Now was not the time for specifics, or admitting the fact that he was a fugitive with a price most likely on his head.

The pirate captain nodded once more but said nothing. Captain Sying stepped back, sweeping his gaze through the crew standing around him. When he spoke, his voice resounded across the deck, deep and commanding.

"You have seen it. Is this strange little stone enough to save a man's life? What about a diamond stolen from a royal and jewels taken from a throne? Is wealth such as this worth a ferry ride, or do its stories overreach the actual value?"

Erik had not known the democratic nature of piracy. _Damn it._ Many he had seen made no show to hide their dislike of him. Though the feeling was shared between the pirates and him, it was not he who could decide their fate.

For a moment, there was only mumbling and low talk among the crew. Many of them looked more eager to return below deck and nurse their hangovers than embody a jury. Eventually though, a swell of indiscernible judgments picked up force, rolling over the deck like a stormy wave. Then a bass, rasping voice thundered over all the rest. The crew's voice subsided.

"_What is t' s'op us from killing him and jus' daking his loot?_"

From the crowd came a mug that Erik knew all too well, and despised it. It was Niu, the behemoth pirate sauntering forward and dwarfing the other men. Erik saw that his neck was chafed raw and scabbed in some parts, as if something rather similar to a chain had half-strangled the man. It seemed that that lent the rasping quality to the man's speech. As well, his eyes were bloodshot, though if it was from near-asphyxiation or alcohol remained unclear. Clearly the ursine man had a chip on his shoulder.

"Who is t' say we 'ave to behave like housebroken navy rats?" The pirate's voice continued to rise in fury. "The bastard tried t' kill me!"

Erik rounded on the pirate before he could bite his tongue. "You are mistaken. If I had intended to kill you, you would surely be dead." His voice was pure venom,

Niu snarled a curse and swaggered forward. Reaching back with a beefy arm, he yanked out a battleaxe. Erik reached for his own sword when suddenly a dark blur dashed between him and the advancing mountain of meat.

Mai's voice was piercing as ever and in spite of her petite build, every eye was riveted to her.

"Don't bother spilling his blood, Niu, the deck was just washed."

The wench turned to Erik and her voice lowered in pitch, though not in severity.

"You, Westerner—"

"You called?"

Mai glared but continued. "Shut up you! It is a custom here to give the wife the same as you would give the husband. What would you give me?"

He knew she was lying. The muffled snickers from the crew all but confirmed it. It would be costly to call that though, in the little game she had set up. Yet some games could be entertaining.

Erik reached into his cloak and pulled out an object. It was a Persian cat-collar, studded with precious diamonds. He held it out to her.

"Many smaller stones equal one larger one. It is of equal value, and much more useful."

The pirate wife took it warily and buckled it to her slender wrist. Not unexpectedly, her brow furrowed.

"I have never seen a bracelet like this."

"I never said it was a bracelet," he answered crisply. "If you like, I can show you the proper way to use it."

Her expression was rapidly darkening, but she held out her slender wrist.

Erik regarded her evenly. "Could you? I would like to retain both of my hands."

Someone laughed aloud and more chuckled mockingly. He paid them no heed. As the woman fiercely unbuckled the collar, Erik nodded his chin towards the reposing cat.

"Does the cat belong to you?"

Mai blinked in surprise. "Yes, he lives on the ship," she said suspiciously. She handed back the bauble.

Erik took it and walked to the cat. With a soft word, he picked the lean animal up in one hand and buckled the collar with the other. In an instant, the cat was suddenly worth more than most of the pirates onboard.

"And now you see." He set the feline down.

The woman was still for a moment. The ship followed her example. At last, against the stirring of the whispering morning waves, a sentence slipped from her mouth, chilling and noxious to the daylight.

"_Kill him, damn it_."

Mai turned and stalked off, her frame tight with fury. Niu suddenly lurched forward with his axe to finish the task he started. Erik resumed unsheathing his katana.

"STOP THIS NOW!"

The voice was a roar, one that a general would use on a far off battlefield. The pirate stopped in his tracks and Erik let go of the katana's hilt. Sying's voice was once more a growl.

"Well Erik, answer your question. Why would it not be simpler to allow Niu to have his way with you?"

_What a horrid, vulgar thought. _

Erik wheeled to face the Captain, his tone icy. "I have a home in Xiamen. A wealthy one. I have many more resources there than with me now. Take me there and you will be more than compensated."

The Captain paused to consider his words. When he spoke again, his voice was filled with rumbling sarcasm.

"And you're a baron too? Or a count?"

"No, just a man who has used his talents to amass himself some prosperity," Erik replied without a pause. Never here could he show a flicker of doubt.

Sying offered him a crooked smile. "What talents would those be?"

Erik returned the smile, though his contained daggers beneath it. "Anything that proves useful at the moment."

"I wonder…" the pirate captain mused, leaving his thoughts unspoken. He turned his gaze back to the crew who still watched the proceedings like wolves at a carcass. "_Decide_."

The pirates resumed their droning speech. As there voices merged, Erik could no longer understand what they said. That was, until individuals set forth their opinions that howled above the crowd, this time without accompanying battleaxes.

"_Spill his guts!_" shouted one.

"_Let him live!_" bellowed another.

"_Behead him!_" That was distressing.

The bickering continued, drowning out everything before it. It drowned out the sea, drowned out the air, drowned out thought itself. Erik's head swam with a rolling wave that was not of the ocean. Then a lazy, almost careless voice rose above the rest, scarcely reaching a yell.

"_Let the sea decide for herself_."

For an instant, simple silence greeted the statement, before the chorus resumed, but this time, miraculously, they spoke in union.

"_LET THE SEA DECIDE! LET THE SEA DECIDE!_"

In response to the thundering proclamation, Captain Sying shrugged, the golden thread in his red coat glinting with the motion. He fixed Erik a look that was more amused than anything.

"Very well then. If you survive the voyage, you'll return to your home and pay us your talent-earned wealth. Do not think we're making full speed there. We have to complete our rounds." He tapped the sword at his side. "If the law doesn't hang us, you should see your Xiamen manse in a little less than two months."

Well, at least they would not behead nor have his guts spilled. The thought of spending two months aboard this mottled ship, though, was not very comforting. Nevertheless, he would live, at least until they discovered he had no abode in China.

"If the cook recovers enough from the liquor, we should have some semblance of breakfast. Eat whatever he fixes, anything else you'd need to make it yourself. Though I warn you, he guards the galley with an array of glass bottles." His gaze sharpened. "Now, I'll be having that diamond."

"Why?" Erik guardedly asked.

"You gave my wife's cat a diamond collar."

Scowling to himself and not contemplating the cook's odd choice of weapons, Erik handed the diamond to the pirate. Hastily he pocketed the alexandrite. Niu still stood several yards away, rumbling exchanges with the boorish woman who had fired the pistol. They were both unnaturally tall and large. Perhaps they were related. If so, he felt sorry for the mother.

When he looked back, Erik saw that the Captain had already turned to walk off, his rangy first mate falling in place beside him. Erik admitted to a shameless twinge of satisfaction at the dark-colored clotted gash along the lean man's jaw.

"I did not expect you to live this long." Chosoi approached him with a pointy grin.

"Did you expect me to be walking the plank?" Erik countered sarcastically.

The pirate's expression was puzzled. "Walk a plank of wood? Into the ocean?" He let out a burst of snorting laughter. "If you were going to die, we could think of far more entertaining ways to kill you."

Despite the man's barbing hospitableness, Erik was becoming annoyed. "I would think you'd relish the thought of dropping bloody meat into the water to attract sharks, and gloat as I fell in."

The corsair looked almost interested. "Maybe I'll tell the Captain. Pick your poison, I guess."

"Who are those two women?"

"The ones' other than Mai? Quyen's the one with the staff, Sang has the guns." His tone drawled into a lazy, almost careless warning. "All three of them are the toughest bitches this side of China. None would have made it here if they had been prim little geishas…" Chosoi's gaze flicked up and behind Erik. "Or soft little baronesses."

Erik turned to see the German tottering up from across the deck. From her expression and stance, it did not appear that she had spent the night in the greasy arms of a pirate. Neither did she look content. Her dressing gown was rumpled and stained. Other than the robe, her only visible clothing was a brown threadbare shawl, draped clumsily over her shoulders.

"_Mein Herr_!"

Her husky voice's native tongue was a stark contrast to the singsong language dominating the ship. The German continued her path across the deck. Once, a pirate turned her direction, causing her to shy away in fear, but nothing would deter her. At last she reached them, regarding Chosoi and him warily with blue eyes that were such a rarity onboard the ship.

"I'll be over there while you talk in that growling tongue. I'd rather not be hit by a wad of phlegm," said Chosoi languorously.

The pirate turned to walk over to several of his kind that stood at the railing. The pirates greeted him like a brother, one barking something that Erik did not make out. He supposed that pirates had there little fraternities on ship. He still doubted honor amongst thieves though; he had filched enough to know. None of true thieves he had encountered had a trace of honor.

At last, he was reasonably along with the blond-haired woman. He would rather be elsewhere.

"Thank you, _mein Herr_."

Erik could not help the prickliness of his reply. "Finally, the _baroness _shows a sliver of gratitude."

The woman shifted on her feet and decided to ignore the affront to her pride. "What are we going to do? I understand you told them that I had nobility who would pay a ransom. I have no such title or acquaintances."

"We?" Erik chuckled. "_Mein Frau_, I got you into a lion's den without being savaged…or ravaged; you can get yourself the rest of the way out."

"I don't know _how_."

"Think it over-- you have little else to do," he replied. "Take a paramour if you trust your wiles. A sword _beside_ you rather than _in_ you is generally a better predicament," he finished with vitriolic sarcasm.

"I am more worried about other things than swords being put in me," she muttered darkly.

"Worry about what you wish."

The German met his gaze briefly. "Did you see Fabian back there on the ship?"

Erik guessed Fabian was her late husband.

"It would not do well to think he made some grand escape."

"I never thought he doffed his waistcoat and swam to shore. I only asked if you _saw_ him."

The woman looked down at a bruise on her arm, clasping it with her other hand and rubbing the skin.

"I did. He was beyond me at the time."

She stiffened involuntarily but kept her eyes down. He sardonically wondered whether it was an emotional or physical grievance keeping her gaze towards the ground.

"What will happen now?" she asked, her voice choked and hoarse.

Erik seized her chin and tilted her face up. Past her glassy eyes, her cheeks were reddening and warm to the touch. The German was too shocked to jerk away.

"You'll burn, sirrah."


	5. A Visit From the Good Doctor

**The Pirates of the Tonkin Bay**

**By: **Phoenix Flame

**Author's Note: **I apologize for the long delay, sweetlings. School has been really hectic and to top it off, my laptop died. Anyway, hope you enjoy the chapter. The next update will not take so long, I promise you.

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**Chapter Five – A Visit From the Good Doctor**

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Freedom was what the sea was supposed to represent—no walls or fences, but it smothered Erik just like any other cage. The sweeping waves drowned anything not made of wood. Perhaps then, he thought, with the brains some of these pirates possessed, they could survive in the water after all.

If only Nadir had known what his sacrifice had produced—two imprisonments gained rather than a single life lost. _No_, Erik thought. He could not blame the Persian. _I got into this damn mess all on my own._

The Vietnamese pirates had not tried to restrain him here, onboard the _Dou-Mu_. Nonetheless, they did happily content themselves with their role of jailor, and Erik preferred to remain out of their way. The only one to speak with him occasionally was Chosoi.

It was one day since he had won his gambit, still leaving the better part of two months until the ship reached Xiamen. _Two months to form another plan._ He was concocting a lot of them these days. He believed he could possibly slip away at the first port they reached—the ship most likely could not carry much more cargo without losing speed and negating the function of its sleek lethality.

Erik leaned against a wall near the stern of the boat where he could keep in the shade. The railing of the ship was in front of him, a bobbing fence that separated him from the sea. After years of Persia, he knew how to stay out of the sun, whether by swathing himself in robes and cloaks or merely by attaching himself to any penumbra he could find. The clamminess of his skin seemed to ward off sunburn more easily than one would guess with his exceedingly pale flesh, but nevertheless more was irritated than just his eyes.

"I never got used to this blazing sun either."

Erik turned with a twinge of surprise upon regarding the figure who approached to his right. The man was neither tall nor muscular—in fact, his frame appeared to have little strength at all. What caused the speaker to stand out from every other man aboard though, was that he was very obviously not from the Orient.

The stranger's russet hair was cut shorter than that of most of the pirates onboard, and his eyes were a green that matched his worn European waistcoat. He had spoken Vietnamese, but it came in a rough, accented tenor.

Erik noticed the slight limp that flawed the man's smooth gait as he made his way to leans against the rail across from.

"Do you mind if I stand here?" he asked, his gravelly voice lacking all the fierceness of the ship's other inhabitants.

Erik twisted and regarded the man. "It's not my ship. Do as you please."

The man's thin mouth smiled grimly. "It isn't mine either, I just thought I would demonstrate some manners aboard this barbaric vessel."

_Why bother?_ Erik was tempted to ask.

The stranger continued, his accent slowing his speech, "I have been eager to meet you. I haven't seen a European on this ship that was still alive in a long time."

If he had wanted to meet him, Erik wondered, why had he waited two days before acting? "Who are you?"

The man nodded, his green eyes pensive. "Druce Farlan." He extended a slender hand.

Erik ignored the gesture. He had never been one for shaking hands. Some things were just molded into him, and besides, living among Gypsies and Italians, he had learned it was a good way to get a wrist sliced open by a hidden blade.

The man withdrew. "I am from Scotland, actually. You are French, correct?"

Erik nodded, finding he had a cinder of interest for this man who was so far from his homeland.

"Why are you on this ship?" he finally asked, breaking into English.

If he felt grateful for hearing his mother tongue, Farlan gave no sign. "They call me a cook most of the time. When they bloody themselves up, they call me a doctor."

So that explained the pirates' acceptance of the man's slightness. He was no warrior, that was plain enough; except for the small limp, he showed no trace of ever having his _own_ battle wounds to treat.

Erik suddenly recalled his short-lived conversation with the pirate captain. "You are the one who guards the kitchen with bottles?" he asked curiously.

The doctor's thin mouth curled in the same grim smile and he shifted his stance. "_Pah_," he snorted. "These thieves have little understanding of chemistry or modern medicine, even if they _have_ managed to shrug off some of the tradition of their mainland kin. My reputation is my shield rather than my tonics or drugs, I fear."

A mocking voice interrupted the doctor before he could say any more, "Your shield is flimsier than you are, _Folly_."

The Scotsman went rigid at the sound, all of his collected wryness instantly gone. Before Erik's eyes, the man's stance became almost ratlike as he turned partway to look at the approaching pirate. Chosoi stood several feet away, his wolfish grin lacking any trace of friendliness.

At the doctor's silence, the pirate continued, "You're a cook first and a doctor second. Get to it—you don't need an entire leg to make food."

The doctor turned to leave silently, but Erik did not miss the venom that flashed, sullen and angry, in the verdant depths in the man's gaze. He sulked stiffly away, like an old dog that had just lost a fight, his limp only more pronounced.

The pirate laughed as he watched Farlan's retreat and this time, it was Erik who regarded him coldly. Seeing his expression, Chosoi only shrugged.

"We only keep him around to cook and occasionally dole out the laudanum," he said.

Erik felt colder than he had in a long time, despite the intense sunlight. Would his fate had been similar had he not possessed a heavy purse? "Would you be so jovial if the next sailor you met broke _your_ leg?"

"Are all you Europeans this damn hangdog?" Chosoi countered. "I was going to ask if you wanted to spar. Give you some exercise."

"Why?" he asked suspiciously.

The pirate's reply was as careless as ever. "You _are _the man who almost gave Pink a shave. Few can say that." A lock of dark hair fell in his face, partly hiding one dark eye as he looked at Erik. "Though to hear his part of it, you only managed to apprehend him after he stumbled. Odd thing that he would stumble, he's like a wild monkey when he fights."

Erik felt a bitter swell of victory, though he had not intention of saying how close he himself had come to receiving a 'shave.' Well, if he fought a mock or two, it would at least give him a gauge of the pirates' strength. If he did wind up fighting the entire crew, he might as well know beforehand how many he could take with him.

Chosoi still awaited an answer as he stood, his form slouched to the side, with a single hand on the railing. He was well muscled but not bulky. Erik guessed the rogue was an adequate combination of speed and strength without overhauling in either. Well, he could find out in a few minutes, and he did have little to do to occupy these glorious two months…

"Very well."

What might have passed for a happy grin twisted onto the pirate's scarred face. Turning, he walked along the deck until he got to the widest part. It was clearly the sparring area and Erik had previously avoided the place for obvious reasons. Like little piranhas, the pirates onboard all seemed to congregate around the areas with the most bloodshed.

As it was, another pair was currently battling it out along the deck, their cutlasses clanging in the salty air. One was a tall, shirtless man with a red kerchief dangling at his neck and the other was that brutish woman who had shot at him two days ago. Erik observed that the woman quite appeared to overpower the male pirate.

Beside him, Chosoi waved an arm and drawled out to the mockers, "Aye! Sang, you can finish thrashing Khăntay in a minute, let's see what this Frenchman can do!"

Sang twisted her head to the side, her eyes wide and sharp at the interruption. She breathed heavily and her nostrils flared like a beast's. The shirtless man stopped too, oily sweat gleaming on his chest.

"_Ne_, do you need the whole damn deck?" she called back, her brutish voice carrying easily.

"Toss the bravado, wench! If you weren't going to give it up, you wouldn't have stopped in the first place."

Clearly the pirates enjoyed the raillery and it regrettably had the effect of alerting every thief on the _Dou-Mu_ of what was about to take place.

The woman bawled something fairly uncomplimentary but tromped back closer to the rail. Chosoi turned again to Erik and drew forth the cutlass at his side. Seeing there would no trace of any sort of formality, Erik likewise drew his katana and backed up several paces.

There was no bowing or regulations or announcement. One moment the wolfish pirate sprang forward, and the battle was on, with ragged cheers as the only starting bell.

Chosoi pounced like a leopard, only to stand stock still a stride later. Erik peered warily at the pirate, gauging his stance for any sign of movement. Then with a sudden yell, the corsair rushed forward again another pace, and swung out with his sword.

Erik was enough of a swordsman to know that the pirate had never tried to strike him. Merely stepping back once saw him out of range entirely. There was nothing stock-still about Chosoi anymore. The pirate sidestepped and thrust, though again his attack required no block, and instead Erik countered by swooping forward with a tightly controlled slash. But the pirate simply turned the blade aside.

Erik knew they were testing each other, drawing each other out. When Chosoi slowly began to strafe to the side, Erik mimicked the gesture to protect his own side. He was quickly realizing this mock was to be closer to a dogfight than a swordfight, and the spectator-pirates certainly bayed like hunting hounds.

Chosoi made another rush and swung the cutlass. Erik stepped back once more, only for the pirate to counter in a move like quicksilver and bring the sword in a downwards slash. Erik managed to lift his katana up at the last moment, though the force of the blow nearly swayed him. That, of course, had been what the pirate was counting on.

A feral grin split his face as Chosoi charged and this time, there was no play about it. Erik parried and blocked a sudden fury of cuts and slashes. The pirate's indolent gaze had been too deceptive. Each of Erik's attacks was diverted or stopped. He realized, perhaps too late, that the corsair's assault was hard and fast as he utilized his body type into a torrent of flying steel. His blows were not strong enough to not be blocked, but neither could he be driven back. His swings were not swift enough to get past a parry, but he still easily parried his foe's advancements. And Erik just as quickly realized what this mock had become—Stalemate.

That was, until Erik chose to take a vicious advantage. These Orientals were smaller people; Chosoi stood more than a several inches shorter than he, and so Erik decided to use those inches ruthlessly. He went down into a low lunge, almost to his knees, and drove the katana's point forward. His reach was longer, his sword was longer, and it took every reflex the pirate had to jump back in time. Chosoi was already unbalanced, and when his feet connected with the well-worn wood of the deck, the man nearly staggered.

Seconds later, both combatants were rushing at each other. Seconds after that, both combatants were swinging their weapons for a massive assault. But only Erik aimed for the sword rather than the man. The katana sliced through the air like quicksilver, and came at the cutlass from below. It hit near the hilt, where the already-thick blade was even thicker.

The sword flew from the pirate's grasp, arcing and flipping gracefully in the air. Then it suddenly came back down, and skittered along the deck.

Chosoi stood there, his face covered in sweat. "Maybe Pink did not _stumble_ after all," he breathed, pushing back several dark, wet tendrils that had fallen in his face.

The pirate straightened and once more his toothy grin appeared. Rubbing his swordhand, he spoke with regretful sarcasm, "Gods, I'm no good with a sword. An Ottoman mace, that's my weapon."

Erik stiffened involuntarily. He had last seen an Ottoman mace on the Arundhati. _Yes, there had been one._ The glimpse he had seen of it had been the lethal combination of wood and iron stubs smashing into a sailor's face. _He is no better than the rest of them. _

He found himself unable to agree with the rogue's assessment of his skills. Erik was winded and breathing hard, and could feel sticky wetness pooling beneath his mask. He wanted nothing more than to retreat to the cabin.

Of course, the many crew only mocked at Chosoi, all comments which the pirate took with a graceful, biting tongue, sending it all back into their faces. Erik did not try to staunch his mirth at more than several corsairs who appeared to have been parted from their dearly treasured coins.

Then he noticed several faces that no longer spoke. Chosoi had turned away from him to speak with his crewmates and even he did not notice some of the thieves that appeared to have lost all interest in the fight. All they did was stare, though one's face was slowing twisting into a cruel smile.

Erik wheeled around just as something smashed into his shoulder. The next thing he knew, he was flying across the deck.

He landed on his back several feet away, and slid even further once he hit the wood, his skull connecting with it painfully. His vision swam and quivering black dots threatened to blot out his sight entirely, but he tried to sit up, tried to get his feet under him. He felt like he'd been hit by a rhinoceros…or a bull.

Fury welled in him, boiled and churned in the searing sun. He forced himself to draw his legs under him, and he heaved his way to his feet. Staggering once, he shook his head to try to clear it of those irritating locusts that flew in his vision.

Pain throbbed in his shoulder and radiated down his arm. Hell, even his fingers trembled. Finally, he made himself look forward at what had attacked him. Of course, it was the same bulk of vulgar, lisping meat—Niu stood alone in the center of the deck. His calloused feet were bare, the only way a man so large could walk silently, and in the pirate's ham-hand was obviously the battleaxe that had sent him flying. The wooden shaft was well worn and hard.

"You dake him on easily enough. Why not me?" The pirate leered.

If Erik had not been standing there amongst such ruffians, he would have groaned. Sparring with Chosoi had fatigued him more than he'd thought, and his head still reeled from the blunt blow of the axe. Despite the arrogance that quivered with his rage at the challenge, Erik knew he was in no condition to fight this raging ox. Catching him with the chains the day before had depended upon the element of surprise. And though this pirate had a gut like a cow's, his arms bulged with muscle.

Of course, none of the others cared to check the pirate. Even Chosoi had backed up to stand with his crewmates, his expression merely curious. Without looking at those that surrounded him, Erik knew he would have hell to pay if he attempted to retreat. Wearily, he again unsheathed his sword.

The gigantic man lurched forward, his axe held at the ready. Erik stood where he was and felt distinctly as if he were standing in the path of a charging elephant.

At the last second, he leapt to the side. Unexpectedly, the pirate wheeled and slashed, employing more speed in response than Erik had thought the man possessed. Erik blocked with the katana and the blade nicked the wooden shaft. It took him a moment to twist it back, a moment in which he narrowly avoided having his head taken off by Niu's haymaker.

The sword came loose, but once more the pirate acted unpredictably. Without bothering to defend himself from a counterattack, Niu swung with the axe in a channeled, lethal stroke. Erik once more blocked with the sword, but this time his blade crossed the metal edge of the battleaxe. Even he could never have anticipated what would happen next—The katana snapped in two.

Pure instinct was the only thing that accounted for what followed: Erik leapt to the side while dropping the useless broken weapon, and kicked, his boot cruelly connecting with the side of the pirate's bare knee. Niu reeled once before crashing to the deck.

_And some mountains are scaled, others are slain, _he thought with no small amount of sadism.

Before bovine man could recover, Erik had a dagger at his thick throat. He should have slit it and laughed as the blood splattered across the deck. But he couldn't—The same tendons that had struck and spun moments ago were now drawn taut as he gripped the knife. He wanted to. The urge to kill threatened to overpower him, but the reality of the situation nearly caused him to roar in frustration. How long had it been since he had had a victim at his mercy, yet had been unable to follow suit? And _why_ could he almost picture the visage of the Daroga hovering nearby, beseeching—no, _pleading_—for him not to kill?

_That sanctimonious Persian will be the end of me!_

Erik knew he was striking out, as he so often did. The true reason was not the Daroga, but the pirates standing nearby, even though they made no move to rescue their comrade. He did not doubt the captain's threat of keelhauling, and while it might promise to be an interesting experience, he doubted it would be too beneficial to his health. And he'd be damned if he would let the pirate have the privilege of being the one responsible for his demise.

Also of course, Erik was not in such a hurry as to hasten the end of his life. After all the people he had slain, surely some would have a bone to pick in the afterlife. He withdrew the dagger.

"_Never try that again_," he whispered frigidly to the pirate.

The hulking man was silent until he had climbed to his feet. Other than perhaps a bruised knee, he was uninjured. Mayhap he believed he was safe amongst his crewmates. For whatever reason, the pirate issued his own _coup de grace, _"I knew you were a cockless whoreson."

Well, he'd tried. It was the idiot pirate's fault. Erik's dagger suddenly lunged again, this time with no plans of stopping. It was only a second later that he noticed a form slide alongside him.

He twisted to face the figure too late to prevent feeling the blunt, cracking pain of having the knife kicked out of his grasp.

"Cease this stupidity now, or you will die." Peterke's cold gaze locked on his own.

But Erik could not cease the retort already forming in his mouth, "You who always claim I will die have certainly not proved yourself to be a seer."

"I claim myself to be the first mate of this ship. Do you care for chains again?"

"Only if _you_ wear them," Erik snapped back.

The slight man had obviously begun to lose his patience. "Remove yourself from this deck now, before I let Niu do more than send you flying."

Erik's cursed tongue was unbound, even as he knew he cut himself deeper with each retort. "You didn't seem too eager to say that the other night."

Pink's mouth twisted into a cruel smile. "Today you are short a sword, while I have two."

_No, I have something that could eradicate that cocksure swagger of yours in an instant. _

Perchance the pirate knew it, for his flinty eyes held the faintest ember of a dare. Ha, the first mate _wanted_ him to attack! Erik could see it now. The pirate's wiry frame was drawn and collected, ready to reach for his twin swords at a moment's notice.

Erik did not believe quite so much in his own ability that he could defeat the irritating first mate barehanded against steel. His best non-lethal chance was his katana, and that beautiful weapon was a shattered memory. Even with the Punjab lasso, for the man knew damn well he had it—The battle onboard the _Arundhati_ proved that the pirate could counter that weapon if he had to. And with the little noose of catgut, surprise had always been the root of its true deadliness.

Startlingly, the pirate acted first. "Leave the deck. Now. Consider it a crew-made decision."

Erik turned and departed the mangy crew, almost hissing in rage and too incensed to utter another retort. Footsteps soon trailed behind him. He tilted his head slightly to see Chosoi striding up alongside.

"Hey—" the man started.

"Get _away _from me, damn brigand," Erik snarled and kept walking.

Chosoi made no move to follow him. A deeper voice said something, earning a chorus of raucous laughter including that of the wolfish pirate's.

He wrenched the door open in front of him, and continued his deathly walk into the recesses of the ship. A moment later, however, he realized he had no earthly idea where he was. It was not the same place of his cabin; several stairs led down, with a door a shortly after. Erik descended the worn wooden planks and cautiously pushed open the door. They way his day seemed to be going, he'd likely find out that Captain Sying had a penchant for raising tigers.

However, instead of finding more trials for his weary body, delicious darkness was the only host to welcome him into the room. He stepped in gratefully. Yes, Erik much preferred the cooling, concealing darkness to the sun, and the foul creatures that lurked in it. Even without a light, he could tell the room was only of a moderate size. As he walked in further, crates began to line the walls. He suddenly stiffened and paused. His eyes had not yet even grown accustomed to the change of light, but even so, he knew he was not alone.

"_Mein herr_?"

"_Es ist nur ich_," he said coldly, his lip curling in distaste at the thick smell that permeated the room.

At last he could see decently enough to make out the German woman's figure, and as soon as his vision cleared further, he could not check the unkind laugh that rushed from his throat.

He had not seen her in a day, and since then, his words had become a prophecy: the woman's face was red as a cooked lobster and more inflamed than a lover's passion. Such ghastly sunburns were far from flattering on fair skin. She slithered further back into her dark retreat.

"I told you that you would burn."

The woman's attempted glare cracked into a grimace. "I hate this ship."

Erik regarded her angrily. "Do think you are alone in that assessment?"

She looked up at him, her eyes glassy from a mixture of pain, fear, and indignant anger. He lowered himself onto one of the crates and leaned against the wall, relieved to finally rest in the darkness. If it only wasn't for the woman, he might even be able find it peaceful. Erik considered forcing her out of the room as she continued to gaze at him warily, but he almost laughed again at the sight. Huddled under that threadbare brown cloth, she looked like a witless beggar woman. Whatever she wanted to say, though, she kept to herself.

Before too long, Erik felt his sore muscles begin to loosen as he sank deeper into the darkness. Perhaps against his will, his eyes slid closed as the sea's rolling momentum became almost lulling. He was not about to fall asleep, he would never be that stupid, but the dark rest was relaxing, to say the least. Then that woman had to ruin the consoling silence.

"I wonder where they keep their swords. They have so many."

_In their sheaths? Foolish woman._ "If I were you," he said lethargically, cracking an eye open with faint annoyance. "I would wonder about their guns."

"Those? I already know that. You're sitting on them," she replied.

Erik opened both eyes and glanced down at the crates. What he saw snapped all drowsiness from his mind. On the crates, printed in heavy ink, was a single word, written once in English and again in Hindi. He sat up. Now he comprehended the heavy smell. _Firearms_ stood out starkly against the pale wood. Across from him, the wooden structures resembled barrels more closely than crates. Yes, no wonder the air smelt so thick and acrid.

He wondered if the pirates were idiotic to let him wander so freely. If he and the woman were to arm themselves with pistols and rifles…No the pirates knew well enough that that was impossible. The thought of him and the German woman storming the ship with guns blazing and bullets flying actually caused even him to let out a bark of laughter. The woman's face widened in alarm at his sudden outburst, but it only caused him to laugh harder.

The Germanic short temper allotted to her soon began to fray. "Why do you laugh?"

His tone was sharply mocking. "The thought of you with a rifle, firing away like some modern-age Amazon."

Her inflamed visage spread into a scowl. "You mock me, Frenchman."

"It is easy enough."

"I don't see how you can be so jovial amidst these savages." She gestured with a red-knuckled hand. "You're favoring your arm."

Perhaps the woman wasn't completely witless. "All because of those thieves and their penchant for Grand Guignol entertainment. I cannot see how _you_ are so emotionless about the death of your husband."

The anger in her face abruptly melted to be replaced by an ashen melancholy. "Don't say that. I grieve in my own way."

"Yes, like a black widow mourns its mate." He was growing annoyed.

"Don't _say _that, _Drecksau!_" she snarled.

"Careful, _Schlampe,_" he warned derisively. "Such words do not suit a baroness."

"Enough with the baroness!" she cried. "It buys me time, time enough to cower like some dog until they find out."

"No," he corrected, "To cower like a coward. Don't insult the dog."

The woman's voice softened until it carried the whisper of defeat. "Coldheart. Unlike you, I have no sword to defend myself."

He chuckled darkly. "Neither do I. If you are so concerned, find a knife." His annoyance was making his words all the more cutting. "Who knows? If your life is on the line, you might even succeed in a swipe or two before you die."

Erik expected her to fire back some maladroit retort, but she remained silent. Her glassy bloodshot eyes only glowered as she backed up further against the wall. But Erik was not disappointed and made no protest—any dark silence was preferable to her throaty chatter.


	6. Sailing to Rach Gia

**The Pirates of the Tonkin Bay**

**By: **Phoenix Flame

**Author's Note: **And you only thought this phic was abandoned. I'm sorry my dears for the long wait. School, writer's block, computer problems, you name it, I could probably chalk it up as a reason this chapter took so long. All I can say is sorry for the long wait and expect the next one sooner. Love y'all!

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**Chapter Six – Sailing to Rach Gia**

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Erik wondered if the pirates considered the morning meal practice for combat; breakfast onboard the _Dou-Mu_ was its own kind of melee. The morning was bright and muggy, making him wonder why he favored black clothing. Before him was the greasy crew.

The pirates had congregated at the deck, jostling among themselves as they roared for food. Erik's mouth curled in distaste. In a clear space, surrounded by the howling dogs, stood the Scottish doctor. Druce had several large sacks at his feet and two barrels beside him. The doctor's expression mirrored Erik's own.

He noticed a crate full of mugs beside the kegs. Druce opened the sacks, revealing whatever food was stored inside them. Soon after, the doctor stepped back so not to be pummeled by one of the pirates.

Erik skirted the crowd, staying close to the railing. He felt dourer than ever at the prospect of facing the mongering men once more. His weapon supply seemed to be dwindling as of late. And from what he had seen, the Asian sea-rats had enough arms to furnish Napoleon's vanguard. At the same time, his real arm felt encased in a painful rock that took several moments of swearing to move any real distance.

"Catch!"

He realized the familiar voice was aimed at him. Wary of what else might be aimed at him, Erik spun to the sound. Survival-hardened reflexes snapped into action as a dark shape flew at his face. Erik reached up in time to deftly catch the round object.

Chosoi had chucked a fruit at him.

He studied it in his had and realized it was a dried apple. The pirate who lobbed it sauntered carelessly up, two pewter mugs in one hand.

"Break your fast, Westerner," he drawled. "You do eat, don't you? Sang doesn't think so."

Erik spotted the bony, stony woman on the other side of the deck, her obsidian gaze trained on something he had no interest in seeing.

"So she does speak?" he replied. "I didn't think she did."

"She thinks before she speaks."

_She must not think much then,_ Erik thought. In a rare occurrence, he kept his opinion to himself. A steely blade had come into the pirate's timbre. Accompanied with the more tangible blade at his side, Erik had reservations about provoking him to a duel. He still had a dagger or two as well as his lasso, but he saw no need to tempt fate. He tempted her often, and always had the thought that one day she would collect her wager.

To avoid answering the pirate, Erik bit into the dried apple. The flavor was fainter than that of a fresh fruit and had more sweetness than he cared for, but it was food. _At least it's not rat..._

He remembered a sailor onboard the _Arundhati_ commiserating with another shipmate about a time when a storm had ruined much of his ship's food supply. Rats had been the appetizer, entrée, and dessert until they reached a port.

Finishing the meager breakfast, Chosoi extended a mug to him. Erik could smell the alcohol. _I suppose pirates don't regard the custom of not starting until after noon. _The pirate shook the mug slightly at his hesitation.

"Take it. It's better than the water we got." A familiar sardonic smile twisted his features. "We haven't found a rat in the kegs in months."

Finally, Erik accepted the offered drink and took a wary sip. It tasted like a mix of beer, liquor, and snake venom. The acrid flavor was a rude comparison to the sultry wines he had known back in Persia. Those hazy days under a more exotic sun did have their little luxuries. Nevertheless, if the pirate's words were true, there was not much else to choose from if one wanted a beverage. The thought of brackish water sloshing in kegs down in the bilge made him take another sip of the alcohol, which was always easily preserved in its bitter state.

Chosoi gulped down his own drink and wiped at his mouth carelessly. Twisting back towards the middle of the deck, he hurled the empty tankard over the crowd. The doctor was slower than Erik was—his arms were barely above his waste when the metal cup slammed into his face. His head snapped to the side with the impact and he fumbled with the falling mug. Erik could feel the rage that flashed briefly in the backs of the man's green eyes as a ragged chorus of laughter sounded around him.

"Here's another mug to clean, Folly!" shouted the pirate as he joined in with the laughter.

_Why do I feel he did that to annoy me? Cutthroat savage._ Erik glared, which only elicited more barking laughter. It seemed so recently past that a glare from him once caused nobles to shuffle and step closer to their bodyguards. Or to their hired assassins. Fear was always returned by either submission or wrath. Bloody pirates had no sense.

Erik turned away, reminding himself for the hundredth time that the air he breathed was sharp with salt rather than sand. Persia was an ocean away. He wondered if that army he had spotted had reached the Shah's fortress by now. It was a pity he would never see his defenses in action.

It was then he noticed something off in the distance. A dark shape rested on top of the sea, soft and gossamer against the sticky morning light. Erik glanced back at Chosoi, who had finally reined his laughter back into a few gravelly chuckles. "What is that in the distance?"

The pirate looked out at it before eyeing him lazily. "Land of course. You sometimes walk on it."

"Your nautical expertise shames the French navy into blushing behind their skirts."

"Bah, hangdog. It's Rach Gia obviously—a port, full of drinks, food, and whores. Mostly whores though. And bia om bars."

Erik ignored his lecherous remarks. "Is it an island port, or connected to the mainland?"

"It's connected. I remember this place well."

Chosoi's jovial expression faded as he looked at Erik, while his dark eyes picked up a trace of flint.

"That doctor you flash moon-eyes at, you notice he's lame. Contrary to what you may think, his limp is not from rape and capture. We were at this port, must have been four years ago. And this scrawny doctor—" He smiled dangerously, "You would have thought he didn't care about our health—he ran. Sying caught him of course, and smashed that fucking coward into a wall." His hand rapped against the stiff wooden railing. "He broke, the wall didn't. Of course, Folly served breakfast the morning we set sail again."

For the hundredth time, Erik wondered at the barbarians who inhabited this part of the sea. Yet he knew why the pirate told him the story. Erik was having the exact same thought. _Get to the port and make a mad rush for the mainland._ But he and the doctor were a race apart when it came to agility and strength... Persia _had _kept his sneaking skills well honed.

His safety on the ship was far from absolute. The mountain of meat had broken his beautiful katana, while his arm hurt worse than ever. _No, I'll run. To hell with Chosoi and his abusive stories of the pitiful doctor._ It was also obvious that Chosoi had more of a brain than most of the rats onboard.

The pirate's scarred face twisted disdainfully. "Running's only going to get you killed. But what do I care? You're just some captive with a knife and a few shiny rocks."

"There you are," they were interrupted.

Erik twisted around to see yet another seen-but-not-known face approaching him. This time, it was the old man. _God, is the ship-railing some sacred meeting area?_ Unable to help himself, he glanced at the railing, and found it thankfully stainless. Quickly he looked back to the old man. Then he realized that the man had been speaking to Chosoi rather than to him. _Not as popular as I thought_.

Chosoi faced him as well and, to Erik's eyes, looked almost humble. "Yes sir?"

"Go help with the sails; you are a sailor as much as a thief."

The look that passed between them, a look of mutual understanding, gave Erik more than a hint that this was no chance encounter.

Once Chosoi was sufficiently far enough away, Erik rounded his question on the old pirate. "Why did you help me?"

The man appeared to shrug, though his shoulders scarcely moved. "It seemed a pity to let you die after you had put up such a fight."

"I suppose it's fortunate my _valiance_ caught your attention," Erik retorted. Pity was a loathsome thing.

The old man frowned in disapproval. "You were almost certain to live when you had that knife at Peterke's throat, then you had to slap at the scales. So I decided to tick them back."

"If you are so attached to that metaphor, then it is only a matter of time before the scales tip back again, and surely not in my favor." Erik crossed his arms.

"Then do your best to keep them balanced," he countered. "Always value life. You did not want to die that night, or else you would not have fought so. La, you are quite content to gamble with it though."

Erik was not sure if he was more angry or incredulous. This old pirate was content to dole out advice that was better suited to a fortune cookie. But did he speak any true sense? Or was he merely an old man enjoying too much the mythical wisdom that accompanied age? Bah. Erik decided to handle the commentary in his own way. He changed the subject. "What is your name?"

He could see the knowing smirk behind the man's good eye. "Dac Kein." There was no handshake, only a stated fact.

"Dac!" They were interrupted.

Erik felt a growl rising in his throat. _Is it impossible to finish a bloody conversation? _

Mai strode towards them, the skirt she wore battling her stride against the wind. Her dark eyes were intent on the old man. She stopped a pace away from him and a hand reached out to pull on his sleeve. "I have to talk with you."

If she noticed Erik, she gave no sign. He figured she simply ignored him. _Still licking her wounds, I imagine. _In the glowing sunlight, he now noticed the sword she had brandished before. It was not a cutlass but slimmer, built for someone who could not hack through femurs on a whim. The coral-colored dress she wore fitted her figure loosely, but rather from the style than bad tailoring. As well, the belt that the sword was tied to buckled so slackly around her waist that Erik wondered why it did not just slide off. It wasn't as if the woman was particularly voluptuous.

"I will be with you in a moment, Mai," Dac Kein said with resolute calm.

The woman fidgeted with impatience but appeared too restrained around the old man to be more vocal about it.

Dac Kein cast one final single-eyed look on Erik before turning away. "Remember. Sying enjoys a good joke but his patience is far from infinite. No one's is, not even mine. Water is the only constant here, and you'll best stay out of it."

As if Erik had any intention of swimming his way to freedom. There could be sharks in the water. _"They'll bite your toes off!"_ so had said a girl from years ago, back on the wine-sodden soil of Italy. She had not looked pleased when he had informed her that a shark would bite off far more than a few toes. _"An arm or leg, or maybe your head."_ Alas, he had always been poor at making friends. He found it ever so difficult to convey sarcasm.

Dac Kein walked unevenly along the deck, trailing a step after Mai. For the moment, Erik was alone. The pirates were too distracted with taunting the doctor to notice him. Chosoi actually _was_ off with a small group adjusting the windmill-like sails, while the captain of the ship was nowhere to be found.

It was too hot out here and Erik needed rest if he wanted his arm to recover quickly. The bruises were tight and gnawing, but time would heal them. If he didn't get into any more fights. With that logic, he could look forward to his condition being chronic.

Erik began to walk back to his room. There were three walls that resembled a tropical shack surrounding the door that led below deck. The door was heavier than it looked, but opened soundlessly. Either it was treated or well-cared for, as rust was a far more vicious parasite out at sea, so he had heard.

Down the steps, to the right, and once to the left. The door to his room stood out with a dog etched onto the wood. No, not a dog. The animal was a cat, albeit a strange one. No longer caring for nautical art, he pushed it open and returned to his familiar repose on the bed in the small room. It was time to work out some sort of plan for escaping a city he had never visited. Most large cities had sewers but, in this part of the world, he wouldn't count on it. Most port cities did not have walls. But this was not the world he knew well.

_To hell with it, I think on my feet easily enough. _

He massaged his bruised arm, feeling the looping sinew that was almost as hard as the bone. No wonder it hurt, he had little extra flesh for padding, unlike Niu who somehow did not pull up lame after a kick to the knee. If he had succeeded in stabbing him, perhaps the giant would have merely deflated. _Nature provides. She had to give him _something_ after leaving out a brain._ His petulant thoughts continued until he reached a semi-dozing state.

It was a good while later that the door swept open and the wolfish face poked in. "You said you wanted to get on land. Now's your chance."

Erik stood and donned his cloak before following the pirate. Chosoi appeared in better spirits than he had that morning. The alcohol must have finally taken effect.

"Rach Gia's a dirty little hole, but fun if you know where to go. The White Lily's the best place. It has everything—wenches, whisky, and idiots who can't keep their cards straight after a few drinks."

"Sounds like paradise found," Erik replied sourly.

"Nah, the wenches are only pretty after the whisky, and the whisky costs money."

"Don't you get more money from the drunken card players?"

"When I'm not one of them, yes, but then the wenches aren't pretty."

"What a mystical paradox."

"Not really. You pretend to be drunk and cheat the drunkards out of their money, and then really get drunk yourself so that it looks like you're sleeping with a noble's daughter rather than a beggar's spindly get."

"Then it seems you've found the key to the universe."

The pirate chuckled and looked almost wistful, as well as uncaring at the sarcasm of the replies. "The best catches, especially mine, are all up north. But then you have to walk across the street to get a good drink."

Rolling his eyes, Erik wondered if this was the pirate's version of slobbering drunk, the way he chatted on. But he found no reason to annoy him and risk causing him to remain close by out of spite.

Once on deck, the first thing Erik noticed was that it was now past noon. Then he realized the ship was rapidly approaching a dockyard. Quickly reaching the rail, he saw that the _Dou-Mu_ was being pulled by a small boat. So much for her draconian glory. His knowledge of boats paled to his knowledge of architecture or darker talents. It interested him that the small boat could pull something so much larger.

"Heh, good thing he sent me to get you. Got me out of work." Chosoi had followed him.

Erik groaned inwardly and hoped it would not be like this the entire time in the port.

Pirates covered the deck, making adjustments he failed to understand. Sying stood near the center but not too near the prow. The ironically effeminate figure of Mai stood several feet away, flanked by the two other women who eked out an existence in decidedly more masculine pursuit.

On the docks, people walked, ran, and scurried to whatever their tasks were, the vast majority in no way concerned with the pirate ship. It occurred to him then just how a pirate vessel was not attacked on sight. Two middle-aged men stood on the pier towards which the _Dou-Mu_ sailed languidly. Only they had any interest in it. Everyone else seemed intent on the half dozen or so other ships in the harbor, or, such as were the cases of a youthful cutpurse or a painted strutting whore, had the interest of everyone else.

Past the grimy docks, wooden buildings stood drunkenly against each other for support, occasionally interspaced by dirt paths. Farther still, Erik could make out what might be market stalls.

With a jarring motion, the ship came to a halt and Erik suddenly felt the bobbing motion more than he had since first boarding the ill-fated _Arundhati_.

"_Alright you rats!_ Get off the damn ship and find a good woman or a sweet drink, just don't bring your sorry carcasses back until nightfall." Sying had lungs befitting a general.

"Too bad, it's a short stay. The next one will be longer." Chosoi's lazy expression looked indifferent.

"Why only a few hours?"

The pirate's scarred lip twisted into a toothy smile. "Last time we were in Rach Gia, things became a damn sight adventurous. We are courteous visitors and won't stay so long, only enough to get some of the cargo off and have a lick of fun. This time."

Two pirates lowered a gangplank and it was a mass exodus to be the first to the cathouses and taverns. Erik began to follow Chosoi, with every intention of making a dash the moment the pirate had a mug of beer in his hand, but the man stopped and turned back.

"Looks like the Captain wants a word."

Erik turned in the same direction and saw Captain Sying still where he had been before, scowling at nothing in particular. How Chosoi thought he wanted to speak, Erik had no idea. It was then that he noticed the German woman standing beside the captain, eying the man from behind messy tendrils of blond hair.

"You!" the captain called out.

When Erik came within several yards, Sying grabbed hold of the woman's wrist and dragged her forward several steps. She stumbled with the motion and looked half-ready to throw herself over the railing and take her chances with the sharks. _Have you not a care for your toes?_

"Tell her in her tongue what I say," Sying said, and Erik could only stand incredulously.

"Once off this ship," he said to the woman in a growl, "my men do as they please. Don't think I care what happens to you in Rach Gia, save to say it would end with you bleeding in a ditch, ripped five ways, and clapped to the hilt. If you want yourself intact, stay onboard."

"He does not control his pirates outside of the ship," Erik translated. "If you do not want to wind up raped, he suggests staying here."

Her sunburned faced looked as close to white as a lobster's could. In response, she backed several feet towards the mast, finding no resistance in the captain's seemingly iron grip.

"Tell him I obviously have no choice, then," her monotone voice for once gave nothing away of her feelings on the matter.

Before Erik could translate, Sying waved a hand dismissively and walked past him. Erik guessed he took part in debauchery as much as any of his men. Instead of heading towards the city though, he walked farther down the pier to the two men who had stood unmoving during the disembarkment.

Erik saw that Chosoi had not waited. Why would he, when intricate houses of whoring, drinking, and gambling awaited. Scoffing to himself, he walked down the gangplank, leaving the woman to whatever she chose to occupy herself with lately.

He had a few hours, and the port town could not be that big. He breathed deeply, the acrid smell of old fish and salt and offal filling his lungs. Freedom had no scent. It did not need one—the thought of leaving these pirates was more enticing than all the spices of Persia or all the teas of China.


	7. The Statue of an Ambiguous Beast

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**Chapter Seven – The Statue of an Ambiguous Beast**

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The smells of the city reminded him of Persia, though the swirl of scents seemed less sultry and more ancient. Strange, considering he had often felt as if he was wandering through a market in _Arabian Nights _while in the streets of Tehran, with scrawny street urchins and polished merchants. That at least hadn't changed.

Asian orphans looked the same as Persian ones, he observed, hollow-cheeked and monkey-like in their movements while the merchants merely bowed in robes of a different style.

Despite the similarities though, he would have known the air was not Persian. That merely left a different adventure. But it was an adventure he hoped to continue far away from Rach Gia and the _Dou-Mu_.

Erik swept through the market, having passed the sundry establishments that offered whores and drink. Enough of it spewed into the streets open-bodiced and dripping rum to prove quality was secondary to cheapness. He stepped over a shirtless man sprawled in the dirt, wondering if the bottle beside him had served to intoxicate or murder him.

A more inviting smell tantalized his nose. Looking forward, he saw a merchant selling bread. It looked fresh. He had not eaten much in the last few days, less so than he usually did, which was less than most people. Hell, he could spare a moment.

Erik quickly bought a loaf of bread, the cloak on his hood easing over questions from the vendor. Tearing off a chunk he ate it, pleased to see it did not require five minutes of gnawing. A positive change from the rocky bread onboard the _Arundhati_.

It was then that he gave a moment's more thought beyond running like hell. Besides learning the language competently enough during a phase where the Orient held an interest to him, he knew virtually nothing of Vietnam. In truth his grasp of the language was not perfect either—his books failed to mention the strings of slang and nuances of dialects. It was largely his acuteness towards tone and movement that gave inflection or sarcasm to the sing-song language. And what towns and cities were beyond Rach Gia he had no idea. Neither did he have a clue as to where to procure a map.

Erik eyed the rest of the open market, his eyes passing over merchants and maids and others who might be shopping. If he was going to be plunging out into the wilderness, he might as well have enough food for it. True, he had survived on nothing for days at a time, but bread was not going to sustain him for over a week and make up for a dearth in food the last few days.

He stopped at the next stall of a merchant who sold fruit. The merchant made a good show of merely being curious as he fiddled with a blue tassel hanging from his sleeve.

"Greetings, what may you need?"

Erik studied the piles of fruit. The ability to discern the best stock looks-wise had always eluded him. He finally settled on some that appeared healthy.

"I am wondering, where is the main road out of the city?"

The merchant leaned forward as if he had trouble seeing the outside world from an unwalled merchant stall.

"You're on it. My stall is well placed, for the easiest access."

"For the easiest money, in other words. _Combien_?"

At the man's silence, Erik's attention snapped back to the merchant and not the possible roads leading away from Rach Gia. "How much, I mean." He had a habit of reverting into different languages if he was truly distracted.

Luckily, judging from the merchant's expression, he would scarcely care if he was speaking Farsi as long as he had the proper amount. The vendor made no complaint against the payment in gold, no matter the sovereign's face on the coin.

"Are there any cities close by?" he asked conversationally.

The freshly-gotten coins were far more placating than his voice could ever hope to be.

"Ah, yes. By horse or boat, Long Xuyên is fairly close."

"And by foot?"

"Not so close. But I could procure a horse for you, for only a pittance of a handling fee."

Erik allowed a tight smile.

"Stick to your fruits."

After more precisely figuring out where the river-side city was, he turned from the vendor and carried on, sticking the fruits into a pocket in his cloak. The merchant had not noticed his hands seeking out two more mangos than he paid for. Some habits died hard.

It looked as if he would need to walk it. A streak of laziness pined for a horse but he knew it would take far too much time to choose one and besides, it might draw unwanted attention. While the thought of riding full tilt down the road with bloodthirsty pirates in pursuit was full of Byronic romance, the overruling cynic in him laughed. Such an escape could run a horse to death. Or he could get lost.

Pah, if he was going to get going, he best start now. The merchant had never walked the distance, or even traveled on horse, so he claimed. However, he had helpfully stated that a trip on a small merchant ship took close to ten hours. Close indeed. But the man knew of no closer cities, nor of any small villages. But Erik did not want to try his luck with a small village anyway. The simpler rural people took more time to gawk and be superstitious.

Yet finally—freedom! That was worth sore feet.

The road was wide and the people preoccupied, though Erik mused they were ignoring a towering masked man dressed in black more out of cautious respect than being unobservant.

It was then he remembered something. _Damn._ He had left his Persian robe back on the ship, as the days of the Orient were too humid for so many layers. He had a fondness for that robe, but did not grieve too deeply. He could buy a Chinese robe that had just as fine a weave. He had his memories to sustain him of that snake den, the city standing decadently against the swirling sands.

At last he came to an archway, the boundaries of Rach Gia. In front of him also loomed a statue. Erik paused to regard the stone structure. It was some beast—he guessed a tiger or dog. The animal sat on its haunches, regally glaring down at the city. But then he also noticed something else, and he growled inwardly.

Peterke leaned casually against the creature's neck while balancing on its shoulders. The slender man held his gaze.

"Greetings! Is this dirty little city up to your standards?"

"Quite," Erik bit back. "Unfortunately I have no taste for clap-ridden whores and drunken stupors."

The pirate might have chuckled but Erik was too far away to hear it.

"Then you miss a lot of fun. But you weren't thinking of leaving us, were you? You provide ever so much entertainment."

Erik felt the old rage churning back like acid in his stomach. He breathed deeply, trying to keep it reined. It would not bode well to start a street fight. That would surely draw in every pirate from here to Long Xuyên.

"Who would stop me?"

The pirate leered. "I would, and I am armed far better than you are. But I have no desire to fight you in the middle of the street."

Erik's hand slid to his sleeve.

"Don't think about throwing that dagger," Pink chided. "I am no sentry, and you are merely unthinking."

At Erik's fury-rimmed incredulous expression, the pirate's leer only deepened. But when he spoke, there was no chiding humor, only a cruel amusement. The banter was a superficial façade.

"Do you actually think Captain Sying gives a moment's thought about what would happen to that German bitch if she stepped off the ship? Do you think he _cares_?"

His rage was beginning to sink along with his stomach.

"God—"

"No, _Sying_, as much of a pirate deity that he is. Did you think he was not so witless to leave no insurance you would come back?"

The picture snapped into place in his mind, and Erik knew only cold fury simmering above his ribcage.

"You wouldn't," he whispered.

At this the pirate let out a thin laugh. "Of _course_ we would! We're pirates! You try to escape and we would have no qualms against granting that woman a torturous death. Hooks, knives, chains—we can be inventive devils if it suits us."

By rights he should have slipped a dagger from his sleeve and buried it in the bastard's throat. But that would leave death on two sides.

The city gate rested eternal, remaining as a sentinel arch to aid commerce. It would take only a moment to pass under the shadow of its stone beams.

Yet now he could not. He wondered how many miles down the road to Long Xuyên he could walk before he realized that as many people as he had killed and tortured, the thought of leaving the woman to a grisly demise was something he wondered if he were capable of. And his promise…By the time he came to that conclusion, he might have reached a point in the road where it was too far to go back. But it was doubtful if the comprehension would trot back the way it came instead of suffering in the back of his mind. And even if he did turn and go rushing back, he would return only to death and a realization realized too late.

So that left no choice but to remain and play out this wretched act.

"You _bastard_," he hissed through clenched teeth.

The next time, he would be sure the German was nowhere near the ship or any pirate. Then he could flee with a good conscience.

"Get off that statue!"

The voice came from an approaching man, his thick face angry and a cudgel at his waist. _A watchman?_

"Shut the hell up!" Peterke shouted back. "Your streets are so filthy I can't take the time to slog through muck to find where I need to go. I'm looking!"

Perhaps a younger, more vigilant guard would have raised more of a fuss, but this one was fat and jaded. As well, the pirate carried two swords.

"Damn sailor!" he called as he returned to whatever he had been doing.

When Pink turned back, his customary leer remained. But Erik was already walking back, his breath an angry rasp in his throat. He saw no point remaining in the city any longer.

Of course the thought crossed his mind of getting back on the ship, grabbing the German, and then running like hell, but that thought was dashed upon seeing a few figures leaning against the railing on deck.

He leapt half the distance on the gangplank and stormed up the remaining half. As he made to return to his room to seethe, the voice of all voices appeared.

"_Mein Herr_…"

"Leave me alone," he snarled without looking. He might not have let her die but at the moment he wanted to strangle the thing that kept him captive.

------------------------------------------------

He finally did resurface when the ship pulled out of the port. By that time he did not feel the urge to commit quite as many homicides as before.

As he looked to the diminishing coastline, he realized that it was a rather picturesque coast, with beaches of white sand and a leafy backdrop. How long he stood there he did not know. It was only when a familiar voice shouted something that he took notice.

"Captain! Come look at this. It's…odd."

Erik pushed away from the railing and turned to the bow of the ship. Pink stood with a spyglass in his hand, his gaze fixed on the horizon. What constituted as odd for a pirate was something he had to see, even if that pirate was Peterke. He walked over.

Captain Sying was still there, his surly expression even darker than usual. Taking the spyglass, he peered through the lens.

"What the…?"

Now his curiosity was overwhelming him. "May I see that?" Erik asked.

The captain was too deep in thought to remember his status as a lowly captive. Erik took the absently offered telescope. The mask made it difficult to position it properly, but the inventor of the cruelest tortures and grand palaces would not be thwarted by so small a thing. Soon he viewed the magnified horizon. And his shock attacked like a tiger upon his guts.

"Don't drop that thing in the water."

But the snip could get nowhere near him. Nothing could pierce his mind as he looked out to sea with the sickest dreaded he had felt in years. _Such a fool!_ Such an idiot to think that freedom was as simplistic as running off with a German. And now he could do little else than watch as the crimson light in the sky resembled hell more than dusk.

Persian warships sailed low on the horizon.


	8. Flight or Fight

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**Chapter Eight – Fight or Flight**

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They might not be after him. Perhaps the Shah wanted protection for a traveling ambassador. Perhaps he was exploring new trade relations and was cautious about foreign waters. Or maybe the Shah woke up and decided he wanted to conquer the Orient. No, certainly not the latter. While the Shah was an idiot, his mother was not, and she held the young ruler in check.

His life was a myriad of Gothic tragedy. Surely the odds of the ships looking for him were good.

"Is that _Persia_?" asked Peterke.

"No one would masquerade under Persian flags," Captain Sying replied.

Erik's stomach was a mass of writhing snakes. He wondered then, if it was too early to be thankful for not having seasickness. And all the while his mind rolled—how could they have gotten out here?

Nadir had no idea where he was going. And even if he did, Erik had a rare spot of faith that the Persian would not disclose his location. Tightening a hand on the railing, he wondered for the first time if his friend had been put under torture.

God, how desperate were these Persians? Search parties were understandable but _warships_?

The waspish agent back in Persia…the half-blood would have known where he was going and unlike Nadir, would have no reason to protect him at the expense of his own life. But then, Erik knew from his time in the Persian courts that the Shah often did not wait for a freely-given response. Sometimes just to associate with the person the Shah wanted was a death sentence. That, he knew, was the Khanum's influence.

There was a merchant, once, he remembered, accused of buying from a smuggler. Of course the man had not known the smuggler's true nature. Yet Erik had killed him in the arena all the same…one of the few deaths he ever felt obliged to grant quickly.

"Should we attack and see what Persia has to offer?"

"No," Sying answered. "I won't screw with warships. No reason now." He pushed away from the railing, still eyeing the horizon. Then he noticed Erik.

"Give me that, before you drop it," Peterke said.

Erik numbly returned the spyglass. Captain Sying and his first mate had no further interest in him.

"Hon Rai then," said Pink.

"Hon Rai," the captain agreed.

They departed together, discussing things in a murmur that made translating too bothersome.

Erik looked again at the warships, still far off but easy to see with a spyglass. He froze. It occurred to him then that the _Dou-Mu_ could not be the only ship to have a telescope. Hastily he left the deck with all intent of returning to his borrowed cabin.

A dark form diverted his attention as he opened the door to get to the inner ship. Looking over, Erik caught sight of the black cat. It looked quite content gnawing on the head of a dead rat. Its neck was bare.

A chuckle settled deep in his throat as he walked through the doorway and down the stairs to the ship's lower level. His amusement was short lived, as all too soon visions of the Persian warships returned to his mind. Christ, someone mocked him.

His ponderings of his cursed fate were cut short when he noticed a slender figure. It was Mai, one hand against the wall as she walked towards him. On her other wrist he saw the glittering collar.

"Where are your dear ladies-in-waiting?" he called.

Indeed, every time he had seen her since they last spoke, those two wenches never left her side. A little piratical sorority.

Mai looked up, her eyes half-lidded.

"Off killing stupid men."

He continued past her several strides and she continued as well, whatever undulating loathing she had for him not on her list of priorities at the moment.

"Oh, I will have that collar fixed."

He was provoking a fight. He knew it. And in his sourness it suited him.

As he expected, the woman wheeled around.

"What are you talking about, daft puff-fish?"

Erik allowed a sardonic smile. "Why, your cat's charming collar. I found it on the floor with its buckle broken."

He held up the jewel-studded collar. The pirate wife flexed her wrist without looking. Indeed it was gone.

Her voice snapped with anger but weariness filed it down. "How I hate you, Frenchman."

"For finding a discarded collar?"

"I hope you run. So I can see my husband gut you."

"No castration this time?"

She was not as tanned indoors as she appeared out on the deck, he noticed.

"My husband would not object to both," Mai growled. "Or we could just throw you in the lowest part of the ship."

"I was already there and managed fine."

"Oh no." She met his sarcastic smile with one of her own, but sharpened with far more viciousness. "You were not in the bilge. The bilge—that is where all the water that has leaked in is. It's black, full of whatever rot and dead things have formed. And rats! The rats are there, but always hungry."

"Lovely."

Her hand went to her waist, and Erik was reminded of the night he first met her. Honestly, had he wanted to start a one-sided swordfight? The answer had no time to come, as a familiar voice sounded behind him.

"Mai, darling."

It was Dac Kein, his limping gait hollow-sounding within the corridor. He strode past Erik without a second glance, coming to the side of the harpy woman. The harpy quickly sheathed her claws, looking up at the old man with a knowing expression.

"It has been too long. Come with me." He turned back to Erik. "Let me see that collar. I can repair whatever is wrong with it and save you the trouble."

He held out an expectant hand. Erik felt the double stare of the two pirates, one sardonic, the other silently chastising. _Oh, how I hate this ship._ Dac Kein was as bad as the wench, he decided. There was nothing about him to directly oppose, and that made it all the more excruciating. With an arm of wood he offered the cat collar, knowing full well it would never see a cat again.

Both pirates turned to leave, the old man offering Mai his arm. She took it, no longer leaning against the wall. _Such a foolish show of etiquette_, he thought.

He turned and continued down the corridor, with nothing to do and everything to run from. Perhaps it was cabin fever.

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Erik remained below deck, avoiding the sun and the pirates who seemed immune to it. He stood in a corridor, though in a different one than his _tête-à-tête_ with the pirate wife.

After many thorough explorations of the ship (though he never found the fabled bilge), Erik was once more bored. The ship, as it turned out, had more than two entrances to below deck. There were hatches with ladders, and Erik could begin to see some order to how they were placed. The whole ship was strange, actually, compared to the European vessels he had traveled on. He noticed far more rooms.

Years before he had been on a ship that was recently captured from a group of Portuguese pirates. The inside of the ship was gutted, made into a massive commune except for the captain's quarters and a few walls for support. It was an odd disparity in tradition between the East and West, if the _Dou-Mu_ was indeed status quo among piratical Oriental vessels.

He was truly bored.

As such, he was almost happy when a shape flew in from a hatch nearby. It was Chosoi, the only one on this blasted ship he could halfway stand. The pirate shouldered by him. He saw him, though—it was all too apparent by his spontaneous ranting.

"Goddamn Khăntay! He'll kiss his mother's corpse in thanks if he doesn't wind up hanging off the mast. Idiot son of a cow! Claims I don't tie right. He says '_cao ni ma_!'"

Erik's curiosity growled at his lack of comprehension. All he could make out was a reference to a mother. Chosoi ranted on.

"So I say '_con di me mày_!' Deserving bastard. Damned Chinaman! Then he proves what a stupid water buffalo he is!"

Erik kept pace on foot, but the pirate's tirade galloped lengths ahead of him.

"What exactly has he done?"

The pirate stopped for only a moment to lash out with an arm. Erik sidestepped, ready to strike back, but instead of hitting, Chosoi merely held out his hand.

"That's _all_?"

Blood seeped from a cut behind the pirate's knuckles. It was wide, but the amount of bleeding would keep it clean. Erik did not see the need for the explosion. Chosoi trudged on.

"My slashed up hand is indeed all. The bastard got it caught up in a rope."

"If you are so close to the Reaper should you not see the doctor?"

Chosoi let out a disgusted snort. Erik could smell some kind of sweetish liquor on his breath. "And let him drip on that foul-smelling stuff that hurts worse then the actual cut? Hell no! I have far better ways of dealing with wounds."

"Do they involve killing the offender?"

"Ha! There's an idea. Oh so _clever_."

With a shoeless foot he kicked open the door to his left and made his way inside. Erik followed. At last he got a glimpse of where these pirates resided. It was a bigger room than his was, but instead of a bed there were several hammocks. Trunks too, and random piles of items Erik could scarcely identify. He saw no practical reason for a mound of fishing nets pushed into a corner.

Chosoi flipped the lid open on one of the chests and began to rummage through with his good hand.

"What is Hon Rai?"

Erik noticed the pirate's body tense for a second as he continued his nameless search.

"You ask too many questions. Can you ever just say something?"

When he looked over his shoulder, he realized Erik had taken residence in one of the hammocks and was fiddling idly with a piece of twine. Bits of everything could be found in the room.

"Come now. Clearly you must know."

He only managed to just catch a piece of wood hurled at him from the pirate.

"The last time I told you anything, Pink almost slit your throat."

"Your care is truly touching," Erik snapped, letting the wooden figurine fall to the floor.

"Care?" The pirate laughed. "Never think that of a pirate."

"And never think satiable curiosity of me. What is Hon Rai?"

When Chosoi looked back over his shoulder, the wolf-gaze had returned.

"It is a small port that buys supplies off of us." Before Erik could needle him further, the pirate let out a cry of triumph. "Ha! Ngua didn't get his hands on it."

Chosoi held up an amber-colored bottle and uncorked it. Quickly he slathered on its contents, and then licked the other hand that had gotten some of the remedy on it.

Erik sat up higher, twisting his weight as the hammock swung to one side. "Is that _honey_?"

"No, it's raw fish. Didn't your mother ever teach you to put honey on cuts?"

He refrained from mentioning many things his mother had taught him, and none of them to do with honey as an antiseptic.

"Hon Rai?" Erik asked.

"A port." The shorter man was entirely undaunted. At Erik's glare, he countered "What will you do? Chase after me with that broken sword?"

The pirate fished out a strip of cloth from the same trunk and threw the bottle back in. Erik was nonplussed, to say the least.

"Now that you've nursed yourself back to health, is this Khăntay going to be hung from the mast?"

Another one of Chosoi's wild barking laughs. "Khăntay? Eh, the bastard can live a few more days. I rage, it's my nature."

_And I took him __for one of the milder ones here…_

The pirate was once more regarding him. "Ready to stop skulking below deck now, hangdog?"

He might have found offense, but Chosoi's tone was teasing. And Erik had no sword. So he followed the pirate who was in far better spirits than when he had first arrived.

Back on deck Erik saw that the sun had set, replaced by a moon that made the highlights in the water silver instead of red. As well, the ship had changed directions, for now the land was behind them.

From the smells and crowd on deck it looked like dinner. But Erik did not have to be a salt-boned sea veteran to think that something seemed out of place. After a moment of searching he saw Captain Sying at the rail, looking out onto the ocean.

The sick dread that had been calmed by confrontations and honey churned back up in his guts again. Despite his dislike of the pirate captain, he could not help himself from asking the stocky man what he stared at.

Sying looked over to regard him. In the moonlight he appeared older, with dashes of gray at his temples. His tone contained all the nuances of derisive scoffing, but Erik had looked at the eyes of enough people to see things that were not too heavily guarded. The man was puzzled, though untroubled.

"Those warships are chasing us."


End file.
